A New Team
by Christina TM
Summary: It's finally here! Sequel to A NEW LIFE. The Ducks head off to the Junior Goodwill Games as Team USA. COMPLETED
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: I do not own _The Mighty Ducks. _They belong to Disney. I don't own any direct quotes in here, either. I do, however, own Kaley Bombay, Kestle Carter, and whoever else wasn't in the movies. But I don't make money from them.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: When you read the summary, I bet you thought _Hm, this sounds an awful lot like _D2. Well, it is-_D2 _with Kaley in it. But I played with it a little. I added a subplot, added a few scenes, deleted a few scenes, and changed some things around. In this story, about two years have passed since the start of _A New Life. _I've tried not to totally rip off the movie. I have never read the book version of _D2 _(but I'm working on finding it) and any similarities between this and the book are total coincidence. OK? And I spent many an hour with my small TV/VCR, remote control, and laptop to copy the script so I could write this. I did my best, but it probably won't be perfect. And I'm not a hockey encyclopedia, so the hockey scenes may seem a little awkward. Again, I'm doing my best. 

RATED: PG because the movie is PG.

ARCHIVES: Flying Proud, all others ask.

A NEW TEAM – PROLOGUE

Gordon Bombay lowered his face shield and skated towards center ice for the face-off. At thirty-two, he was far older than most minor league hockey players. Several of his teammates had affectionately dubbed him "Old Man Bombay", as most of them were ten years his junior. 

The referee dropped the puck, and Gordon took it with ease. Triple-deking past the opposing team, he shot it into their goal, making the score five to two. As he glided back into his own zone, one of the opposing players checked him hard. As Gordon collapsed to the ice, he felt pain shoot from his knee right down to his ankle.

"Gordon!" One of his teammates, Michael Lemieux, said. "Gordo! Hey! You OK?"

Gordon grabbed his knee and pulled it to his chest.

"Coach!" Michael yelled.

"Bombay? You injured?" Came Coach Davis' gruff voice.

_Injured? _Gordon thought. _Yeah, I'm injured. I'm not doing this because I feel like it!_

"Ref!" Davis called. "Get the paramedics. This one's hurt bad!"

"Just hang on, Gordo, OK?" Michael said, removing Gordon's helmet. "All right? You're gonna be fine."


	2. Chapter One: It's Great to be Home

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey everyone! Number 2 in the _New Series _is underway. This story will probably be completed pretty fast as it is totally written out on paper. Until they get to LA, it's pretty much _D2 _with another character. But I added some interest after that. In this story it has been two years since _A New Life._

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER ONE – GREAT TO BE HOME

Gordon hobbled off a Greyhound bus using a cane. The falling rain matched his mood. _That jerk tore my ACL, _he thought bitterly. He'd never be able to play professional hockey again. His childhood dream had vanished within seconds. "Great to be home," Gordon mumbled, only half meaning it.

"Dad!" 

Gordon turned around, allowing half a smile to flicker across his face at the familiar voice. "Hello, Kaley!" He said, opening his arms to his thirteen-year-old daughter. Not much had changed in the two years he'd known his daughter-she was still small, her hair was still short and blond, and she still looked just like her mother. Whenever Gordon commented on how unchanged she was, Kaley just smiled and said, "I'm consistent."

"Kaley, be careful of his knee!" Gordon heard someone yelling. "And both of you get in here before you get pneumonia."

Kaley pulled away from Gordon and rolled her eyes. "Jan, you can't get pneumonia from getting wet. I've told you a million times!"

"Just get in the car, sweetie," Gordon said, giving Kaley a little shove towards the car. "Hello, Jan!" He said, opening the door and giving Jan a hug. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"It's good to see you, Gordon." Jan said.

"Hans couldn't make it?" Gordon asked, pulling away.

"Ach!" Jan gave a dismissive wave. "Don't get me started on that strudlehead. He went back to the old country and left me to run the skate shop all by myself. He wanted to visit our mama. She loves him more, you know."

The three shared a laugh over that, and Gordon felt his mood lifting a little.

A horrible squealing sound yanked Gordon out of a deep sleep. _Where am I? _He thought, looking around. _Right, the skate shop. _He remembered with some relief. He and Kaley had spent the night there in the "living room," where Jan kept an old couch and recliner. Glancing over at the recliner, he saw that it was empty. Kaley must have already gotten up. In the two short years he'd known his daughter, one of her characteristics Gordon had picked up on was that Kaley was the ultimate morning person.

"Sorry about that, Coach," Charlie Conway said apologetically, poking his head through the glass door. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's no problem, Charlie," Gordon said, yawning. 

Charlie's face melted into a smile. "Hi, Coach." He said, walking over and giving Gordon a hug. "It's good to see you! I really missed you." 

"I missed you, too," Gordon said, returning the hug. "You know where Kaley is?"

"Yeah, she's helping Jan make-" Charlie started.

"Nobody move!" Jan commanded from the doorway. "It's time for Jan's specialty."

"Hasenpfeffer and eggs." All four of them said.

"I thought I smelled something burning," Gordon said as Jan began to dole out the hasenpfeffer.

"I helped Jan make the hasenpfeffer this morning," Kaley announced proudly, entering the room and sitting down next to her father.

"I'm not touching it!" Charlie said in mock horror.

"Charlie!" Kaley admonished.

"I see you've met my new apprentice," Jan interjected before Kaley and Charlie could go any further. 

"Jan said you did this job when you were my age," Charlie said, taking a bite of his eggs.

"Sure did," Gordon answered. "And I hope he pays you more than he paid me."

"You got _paid?" _Charlie asked in shock, shooting Jan an accusatory look.

"Eat, everybody, before the hasenpfeffer gets cold," Jan urged quickly.

Kaley giggled and picked some hasenpfeffer. "This does beat the heck out of inner-city Baltimore," she sighed.

Later that day, Gordon hobbled past a picture of the Ducks on the wall. He took it down and began to look at it as Jan walked in.

"That was a good day," Gordon said, gazing down at the picture. "Look at Charlie. Gosh, he's grown."

"They'll do that," Jan said. "Since his mother's been married, he started spending a lot of time here. I just had to hire him."

Gordon bit his lip. "I should have kept in touch more," he said wistfully, a pang of guilt stabbing at him.

"But you are here now," Jan took the picture and hung it back on the wall. "So what is your plan? Have you talked to Ducksworth?"

"No, no," Gordon said dismissively, limping over to a rack of hockey sticks. "I'm not a lawyer, Jan. I'm a player."

"But your injury," Jan cautioned. "It needs rest and time."

"Well, time is something I don't have a whole lot of," Gordon countered. "I was _this _close to the NHL, Jan." He held his thumb and forefinger inches from each other. "I was back in the game. And man, I was alive."

"Have you thought about coaching?" Jan suggested. "After all, you were the Minnesota Miracle Man."

"Coaching the Ducks was one of the best things in my life," Gordon agreed. "But I can't make a living coaching peewee hockey, not with Kaley to support. I still have to pay off some of her medical bills from almost two years ago."

"Where there is a way, there must be a will," Jan insisted. "My hockey suppliers tell me Team USA is still without a coach for the Junior Goodwill Games."

"Sounds great," Gordon said sarcastically. "Give them a call for me, Jan. Maybe I can sharpen their skates."

"Don't knock skate sharpening-" Jan started his usual tirade. 

"I know, I know, it's a fine skill, Jan," Gordon sighed. "But I don't want to spend the rest of my life sharpening skates in this rink-a-dink town. I want something better. Something bigger."


	3. Chapter Two: A Second Chance

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Wow guys! Thanks for all the reviews, so early on too! I was kind of worried y'all wouldn't like this story because it's just _D2 _with Kaley. But thanks for liking it! And balisticbubble thanks for what you said about Kaley not being a Mary Sue! I worked real hard to keep her out of that category. Glad it worked. I cut out the part about McGill and Larson getting pantsed and tied to the tree because, although I find it very funny, it made the chapter too long.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER TWO – A SECOND CHANCE

Days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into nearly two months. Gordon's knee healed, and he spent his time sharpening skates, seeing the Ducks and wishing he were still with the Waves. Not to mention trying to pay Kaley's seemingly unending pile of bills that her mother's insurance hadn't covered. There weren't many of them, just enough to annoy Gordon and make the hospital mad. 

One Friday afternoon, Gordon was mulling over all this while sharpening the umpteenth pair of skates of the day. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that Jan had to slap him to get his attention.

"You don't have to do that right now," Jan said as the sharpener whined to a halt. "You have a customer. Go and help him. Then get back to work."

"All right," Gordon took his safety glasses off and limped out to the main area of the shop, grateful for the break. His eyes fell on a short man with curly gray hair looking at a hockey stick. "Can I help you?" Gordon asked. _I must say that a million times a day._

Startled, the man turned around and dropped the hockey stick back onto the rack, where it knocked a bunch of others over. "Oh, sorry, got away from me," he quickly apologized. He stepped back and looked at Gordon as if evaluating him. "Wow, you look great," the man said. "Much better than your pictures."

"Thanks," Gordon said, not knowing how else to respond. _Who is this guy, and what does he want? _He thought.

"I'm Don Tibbles, Senior VP of Hendrix Hockey Apparel," the man introduced himself, shaking Gordon's hand. "How's the knee? I know a doctor in LA who might want to look at it. He's doing great things with bamboo ligaments."

This Don Tibbles was beginning to get on Gordon's nerves. "It's fine," he said curtly, walking over to the rack and beginning to straighten it up. "So what exactly is it that you want, Mr. Tibbles?"

"I want you, Gordon," Tibbles said.

Gordon placed the last stick into its space and turned around. "Excuse me?"

"That's right," Tibbles said. "I want you to coach Team USA for the Junior Goodwill Games. I want you to be synonymous with winning and winning to be synonymous with Hendrix."

"You're joking, right?" Gordon asked. "You want _me _to coach Team USA?"

Tibbles nodded with a smile. "Your friend Jan's been pitching you for months. Gordon, what you did with the Ducks was magic. And we-by we I mean me, Hendrix Hockey Apparel, and your country-need that magic."

Gordon could recognize a perfectly prepared sales pitch when he heard it, and was about to respond when Kaley entered the room. "Dad!" She called. "Could you help-" She stopped and looked from Gordon to Tibbles. "Oh, never mind. I'll ask later." She turned to leave.

"No need," Tibbles said. "Kaley, I have a question for you.

"How do you know my name?" Kaley asked.

"Through your former hockey coach, Joel Evans," Tibbles said. "Kaley, how would you like to represent your country in the Junior Goodwill Games?"

Kaley looked at him skeptically. "What's your angle?"

Gordon stifled a laugh. _She'll be a great lawyer someday, _he thought.

"There's no angle," Tibbles said. "Kaley, I'm Don Tibbles, Senior VP of Hendrix Hockey Apparel. For the past six months, I've been traveling the country looking for the best young hockey players to join Team USA for the Junior Goodwill Games next month. I talked to Coach Evans in Baltimore, and he highly recommended you."

Kaley looked a bit flustered. "But…I'm all out of practice!" She said. "I mean, I haven't played in about two years!"

"Hockey's like riding a bike, Kaley," Tibbles said smoothly. "And there will be practices before you head out. Coach Evans showed me some videos of your playing. It was quite impressive."

"I've already been hit up to coach, Kay," Gordon said. "So you're going to the Games, whether as an athlete or as a spectator."

Kaley smiled. "I'd much rather go as an athlete," she said. "Count me in!"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Tibbles asked. "Let's round up those Ducks!"

"Gordon," Jan handed Gordon the Duck whistle. "Use this."

Gordon took the whistle and grinned. The Ducks were back.

Thirteen-year-old Charlie Conway sat in his bedroom, doing homework. Or at least, _pretending _to do homework. He'd discovered that locking himself in his bedroom for hours on end was the best way to avoid his stepfather, Scott. Scott was the latest in Charlie's mothers many poor decisions in men. Charlie supposed he shouldn't be so cynical. If not for his mother's bad taste in boyfriends, he would never have been born. Scott wasn't exactly mean; Charlie just didn't get along with him. 

A weird sound resonated from the sidewalk below. "Hey, Charlie!"

_Coach Bombay! _Charlie thought excitedly, all thoughts of Scott and homework quickly forgotten. He ran to his window and hastily opened it. 

"Hey!" Coach Bombay said. "You wanna play some hockey?"

A few minutes later, Charlie was off rollerblading down the sidewalk. He couldn't believe it! The Ducks were going to be Team USA for the Junior Goodwill Games! 

The first place he stopped was school. Jesse Hall, the team's enforcer, always played street hockey there after school. Charlie blew the Duck whistle and rattled the fence. "Jesse!"

Jesse turned around. "Spazway! What's cookin'?"

"Jesse, we're back!" Charlie announced excitedly.

Jesse bladed over to the fence. "Whaddaya mean?" He asked.

"OK," Charlie said. "Coach Bombay just came by my apartment and told me that _we, _the Ducks, have been chosen to be Team USA for the Junior Goodwill Games!"

"No way!" Jesse said. "Come on, Charlie, you're playing me!"

Charlie shook his head emphatically. "No way would I joke about this, Jesse," he said. "I'm totally serious! Coach sent me out to round everyone else up."

"Well, then," Jesse vaulted over the fence. "I'm in!"

"Where should we go now?" Charlie asked. 

"General Cinema," Jesse looked at his watch. "Averman should still be there."

Lester Averman sighed as he took the millionth ticket stub of the day. The red-haired, freckle-faced, bespectacled boy had scored a summer job at the Mall of America's General Cinema, and he was _so _glad summer was almost over. Taking ticket stubs wasn't exactly exciting. Plus, the uniform looked dorky.

A strange sound made Averman jerk his head up. Jesse and Charlie were standing in front of him with their rollerblades on. "Averman! Let's go!" Charlie called.

"Charlie, I'm working!" Averman said, grateful for the distraction. "I'm not off for another hour!"

"Forget work!" Jesse said. "This is way better! Did you rollerblade here?"

It was an unusual question, but Averman said, "Um, yeah."

"Get your blades and let's go!" Charlie insisted. "We'll tell you all about it!"

Connie Moreau pushed her long braid over her shoulder and looked over the lake. "It's so peaceful here," she sighed.

"Mmm," her boyfriend Guy Germaine agreed. "You know, the last time we were here, Jesse and Averman interrupted us right as I was about to kiss you."

Connie turned to face him. "I don't see them anywhere now."

"Neither do I," Guy began to pull her closer.

_Quaaaack._

Connie pulled away from Guy and looked over her shoulder. Charlie, Jesse, and Averman were all standing there. "The quack attack is back, Jack!" Averman called, waving them over.

Connie narrowed her eyes. "Have you guys been watching us the whole time?"

"Just get your rollerblades and come with us!" Charlie said.

"Come on, Guy!" Connie called, running over to her teammates.

Guy sighed. "Guys! I was _this _close!"

Greg Goldberg took a rag out of his apron and wiped down his third table. _Two more to go, _he thought. _Then I can get out of here. _Having parents who ran their own deli had its advantages and disadvantages. An advantage was that he got to eat all the falafels he wanted, but a disadvantage was having to work for them. A big advantage, however, was that he got money for it.

"GOLDBERG!" A chorus of voices sounded. Goldberg saw the Ducks pounding on the window. He ran to the door and opened it. "Hey, Team, what's happening?"

"Get your rollerblades," Averman said, "and prepare to be Team USA's goalie!"

Goldberg first felt disbelief, which must have showed on his face, because Connie asked, "You _will _do it, won't you?"

Goldberg decided to play his teammates a little bit. "Aw, guys, I dunno," he said. "I mean, I've got work, and school will be starting, and I'm just not sure…"

The Ducks were starting to look absolutely crestfallen, and Goldberg couldn't keep it up. "I mean, I'm just not sure how I could pass it up!" He said with a smile.

The team gave cheers of relief as Goldberg ran back to the restaurant to get his rollerblades.

Adam Banks could not be criticized for lack of ambition. For two years, he had been out of playing hockey. But he'd continued to keep in practice as much as he could with an old cardboard goalie that had to be older than dirt. It had belonged to Adam's older brother, Hal, before it had been passed to Adam. 

"He triple dekes up to the goalie, he shoots, he scores!" Adam said triumphantly, doing double duty as player and sportscaster.

The sound of the Duck whistle startled Adam from his game. "Hey, Cake-Eater, wanna play some _real _hockey?" Jesse asked in a friendly tease.

"Yeah!" Adam rollerbladed over to his friends. "When?"

"Seven weeks." Goldberg said. "We're Team USA!"

"Wait," Adam said. "You mean, like, Junior Goodwill Games Team USA?"

"Who else?"  Guy asked.

_"All _of us?" Adam asked.

"Only if you'll jump on this bandwagon." Connie said.

"Heck yeah!" Adam said, joining his team. "This is an international competition! We're up against the _world!"_

"Bring it on!" Goldberg said confidently. "We're ready." Just then his rollerblades his the curb and he tumbled down a grassy hill, right into a family's picnic.

"Well, _some _of us might be ready," Connie said, looking down the hill.

"Good thing all he's gotta do is man the goal," Jesse laughed.

"Fulton!"

At the sound of his name, Fulton Reed looked up from the book he was reading. All of the Ducks were rollerblading towards him. "Hey, Ducks!" He said, putting the book aside. "What's all this?"

"Whatcha reading?" Jesse asked.

_"Hamlet," _Fulton responded. "A very dull, dreary work of literature."

"Say no more." Averman hauled Fulton to his feet. "Your dull, dreary life is about to get a whole lot better."

Gordon and Kaley stood on the curb where the Ducks were supposed to meet them. Gordon was somewhat depressed that five of his original players wouldn't be joining them. Tammy Duncan had gone back to figure skating, which Gordon decided was a good thing. She'd never belonged in hockey. Her brother Tommy had become a short track speed skater. Jesse's brother Terry was only ten-too young to compete. Tibbles had gotten no response from Peter Mark, and Dave Karp had moved to New Jersey and quit hockey. But Gordon was ecstatic Kaley could go. He didn't want to have this experience and not be able to share it with her.

"Is that the Duck whistle?" Kaley asked.

Gordon listened to the sound coming from around the corner. "Yep. That's it." 

Charlie and the Ducks rounded the corner, chanting "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"

"Hi, Ducks!" Gordon greeted them. "I really missed you guys. You ready to fly?"

"YEAH!" Came the deafening chorus.

Before Gordon could say anything else, a limo pulled up to the curb. 

"Who's _that?" _Fulton asked.

"Definitely not from this part of town," Jesse observed.

The back door of the limo opened and Tibbles got out. "Hi, kids!" He said cheerfully. "I'm Don Tibbles, Senior VP of Hendrix Hockey Apparel. Anyone want a card?"

It took all of Gordon's self-control not to roll his eyes. "Wait here," he told the enthralled Ducks and got into the limo with Tibbles.

"Nice wheels," Gordon said, remembering the limousine he'd been provided with after losing his license for drunk driving two years ago. "I used to ride around in one of these."

Tibbles handed him a paper. "This is your endorsement contract for Hendrix."

"Endorsement?" Gordon asked, looking over the paper. "What does Hendrix want with me? I'm just a coach!"

"Gordon!" Tibbles exclaimed. "Today, coaches have images. I sell you, you sell me, we both make money."

"Don't get me wrong," Gordon said. "I don't have anything against making money-"

"Not money, Gordon," Tibbles handed him another paper. "A _lot _of money."

Gordon turned the amount over in his mind for a few minutes. He didn't want to get too caught up in this. It had been his downfall before, and he'd fallen hard. He didn't want that to happen again. But the money would more than pay off Kaley's medical bills, and that would end the close relationship Gordon had developed with Baltimore General Hospital. He turned to Tibbles. "Got a pen?"


	4. Chapter Three: Teamwork

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another long chapter. Sorry. I had to delete two other scenes of great hilarity (Dwayne roping everybody & the Zamboni) to shorten this part.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER THREE – TEAMWORK 

"The _Ducks?" _Julie Gaffney asked, pulling her hockey jersey over her head. "What kind of name is the Ducks?"

The blond girl across the room, who had introduced herself as Kaley, shrugged. "Don't know," she said. "My dad told me the story once. I don't remember the whole thing, though."

"Your dad knows the Ducks?" Julie asked.

"He's the coach." Kaley responded, twisting an elastic around her ponytail.

"Gordon Bombay is your father?" Julie asked in amazement. "Gordon Bombay the Minnesota Miracle Man is your father?"

"Sure is," Kaley replied with a smile.

"But your jersey says Heller on the back," Julie pointed out.

"Long story, I'll tell you later." Kaley picked up her helmet. "I think we're due on the ice."

In the rink, Gordon and Tibbles stood, ready to meet the new players.

"So, Tibbles, tell me about my new kids," Gordon said, looking at the five kids in hockey jerseys lined up in front of him.

"Well," Tibbles pointed o a tall Cuban boy wearing a red, white, and blue uniform. "That's Luis Mendoza from our Miami club. Great skater. Incredible speed. I timed him at one point six seconds blue line to blue line."

Luis put on his helmet and began to skate. Gordon heard choruses of "He's pretty fast" and the like coming from the Ducks.

The original Ducks stood on the opposite side of the rink from their coach, dressed in their Ducks jerseys. The jerseys were getting a bit small on some of them, but were still worn with pride.

"Good-looking skater," Connie observed.

"Very good looking," Averman agreed. "What do you think, Guy?"

"Shut up, Averman," Guy said, elbowing the other boy in the chest and knocking him to the ice.

"There's just one minor problem," Tibbles said as Luis neared the boards.

"What's that?" Gordon asked, just as Luis slammed full-speed into the boards.

"He's got a little trouble stopping," Tibbles said needlessly.

"I'd say so," Goldberg said.

Luis picked himself up of the ice. "I almost had it that time," he muttered to himself.

"Yee-haw!" Gordon's head snapped around at the thick Southern twang. He beheld a gangly brown-haired boy with oversized ears and a cowboy hat. "How's everybody?" The kid said exuberantly. "Y'all ready to play some puck?"

"Hey, look, it's Hop-Along Gretzky!" Jesse laughed.

"That's Dwayne Robertson from Austin, Texas," Tibbles said. "Best puckhandler I've ever seen."

"You mean for his age," Gordon clarified.

"No," Tibbles shook his head. "I don't."

Dwayne began juggling the puck on his hockey stick. "Yee-haw! This is easier than ropin' cattle!" He boasted, dropping the puck to the ice and doing some more moves with it.

"He does show off a little," Tibbles explained. "And over there," he pointed to the goal where a girl with dirty blond hair was standing, "is Julie 'The Cat' Gaffney. Won the state championship for her team three years in a row."

"We already have a goalie." Gordon turned to the other goal, where Goldberg was ready to play. "Goldberg."

"All right, bring it on, show me watcha got, I'm the man, I'm the man." Goldberg began in his usual style. But then his right skate slipped and he fell to one knee, with the other leg jerking to a most unnatural angle. "Ow. Help," the goalie squeaked.

"Watch this," Tibbles said, turning back to Julie.

Luis began shooting pucks at Julie in every way, shape, and form. She blocked every one of them.

_This girl knows her stuff, _Gordon thought, impressed. "Well, I guess we could use a backup."

"Coming up now," Tibbles said, "Is Kaley Bombay from Baltimore, Maryland-"

"I know about Kaley," Gordon said.

"Yes, but I still have to introduce her like everyone else," Tibbles countered. "Kaley played a major role in winning the 1991 state championship for her team. She's got a real gift when it comes to maneuvering. Could come from being short." He looked up at Gordon. "No offense."

Gordon shook his head. "None taken."

"Kaley does have one weakness, however," Tibbles said.

"Really?" Gordon asked as his daughter began to navigate the outside of the rink.

"Yes," Tibbles confirmed. "She sometimes has a little trouble staying in control on her edges."

"Oof!" Kaley grunted as her skates slipped and she hit the ice. _Darn. Never could get that right._

"Hey, isn't that the kid from the Junior Olympics?" Gordon asked, pointing to a tiny Asian boy doing a figure skating maneuver. "Figure skater?"

"Uh-huh." Tibbles nodded. "Ken Wu, what can I say? I convinced him that hockey had more of a future. Put a stick in his hands, and nobody's been able to stop him."

"Whoa." Gordon said, pointing to a tall, black-haired, tough-looking guy just entering the ice. "That guy's a _teenager?" _He was wearing a black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, oversized black jeans, and was singing to a Walkman.

"Uh, yeah. Hormones." Tibbles shrugged apologetically.

"He's a goon!" Gordon protested.

_"Don't you know that everything's on fire…" _The kid-the name on his shirt read "Portman"-began singing. "Come on, Tex, sing it with me!" Dwayne shook his head nervously.

"My kids don't play that kind of hockey," Gordon told Tibbles firmly.

"They're called enforcers, Gordon," Tibbles explained. "And when you face Iceland, you're gonna need them."

"Here you go, sweetie!" Portman tossed his stick to Julie, who caught it and made a face at his back. "Hey, my little man!" He picked Ken up and tossed him over the goal.

"Who does this guy think he is?" Fulton asked in disgust.

"All right, that's it!" Goldberg sped away from the goal.

_Uh-oh, _Gordon thought. "I better go take care of this," he said to Tibbles. "Team" USA was now engaged in a knock-down drag-out fight between the Ducks and the new additions.

Gordon blew his whistle. "Everybody _FREEZE!" _He barked. The sound echoed through the empty arena like a ricocheting bullet. The arguing immediately stopped and the kids turned to face Gordon. "We didn't come here to fight," he said. "We came here to play hockey!"

"What's the difference?" Portman asked.

Gordon silenced him with a glare. "You're Team USA," he continued. "You represent your country!"

"That's right!" Tibbles agreed.

_Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away, _Gordon thought. "Now I want you-" He started to tell the kids.

"To be all that you can be, right?" Tibbles jumped in. "You've gotta raise yourselves up, guys!"

_Or maybe not. _Gordon turned his glare on Tibbles. "All right, now let's get started!" Gordon turned to the kids. "Let's scrimmage!" He raised his whistle.

"Right! Scrimmage!" Tibbles said, blowing his own whistle. 

Gordon was beginning to get a bit fed up. He turned around, prepared to tell Tibbles to get lost. "Hey, you don't need me here." Tibbles said before Gordon could say anything. "I've gotta meet Michele MacKay, she's the team's tutor." He began to leave.

"Don?" Gordon held out his hand.

"Oh…all right." Tibbles handed the whistle over.

"You'll get it back at the end of the school term," Gordon said, eliciting a giggle from the team. "All right, show me what you got!" He said to the kids, blowing his whistle. "Let's scrimmage!"

Jesse skated to center ice. _Great, I get Hop-Along Gretzky, _he thought to himself as Dwayne met him.

"Great day for hockey, ain't it?" Dwayne asked enthusiastically.

"Sure is, Cowboy," Jesse answered, mocking Dwayne's enthusiasm.

"Let's face off," Dwayne said. Both players looked at the puck. "One…"

"Twothree!" Jesse said quickly, taking the puck and knocking Dwayne to the ice.

Luis sped towards the net. Speed was his specialty. His trademark. His best friend. And at the moment, it was about to become the fat goalie's worst enemy.

"Goldberg, look out!" Coach Bombay hollered.

Too late. Luis slammed into Goldberg, knocking him and the net into the boards.

"Thanks for breaking my fall," Luis said, not knowing what else to say.

"Anytime," Goldberg said, looking rather bewildered.

"Come on, get off me!" Averman said, pushing Connie, Guy and Charlie off himself. They'd gotten into a pileup near the boards.

"Didn't you guys practice _at all _while I was gone?" Coach Bombay asked.

"You know," Averman panted, reaching for his water bottle, "I _knew _we forgot something."

_Some team we've got, _Kaley thought. _We can't even scrimmage against ourselves!_

"Kaley!" Dwayne called. "Here!" He passed her the puck.

"Thanks!" Kaley yelled back.

"Move over, sweetie!" Came a deep voice from behind. Kaley felt a big, strong arm shove her out of the way. "Thanks!" It was Portman.

"Hey!" Kaley got up. "You can't do that! That's illegal!"

"It was just a body check, girly," Portman said.

"I have a name, OK?" Kaley was starting to get angry. "And it's Kaley. _Not _'girly.'"

"You want this to get physical?" Portman asked.

Kaley narrowed her eyes at Portman's towering figure. "Didn't your mother teach you never to hit a lady?"

Portman scoffed. "Yeah."

"She ever teach you why?" Kaley asked.

"No."

"Well, allow me," Kaley said. "It's because _this _lady will hit you back!" She jumped up and tackled Portman.

Ignoring the scene going on between Kaley and Portman, Adam stole the puck from Fulton and shot it into Goldberg's net.

"Great shot, Adam!"Coach Bombay yelled. "Way to show 'em!"

_"Oof!" _Adam exclaimed as he felt someone bump into him from behind. "Fulton! Look-" He didn't have time to finish before he stumbled forward and both he and Fulton fell into the back of the net.

Goldberg tapped the post with his stick. "Ding! Round one!"

"Wait until you meet these kids; they're fantastic." Tibbles said as he and Michele MacKay, Team USA's tutor, approached the ice. "Half of them are from all around the country, and the rest-"

Michele gasped as she saw a puck headed for them. "Duck!" 

"That's right, the Ducks," Tibbles said calmly, turning towards the ice. "Oh, my-" He got no further before the puck hit him right between the eyes.

"Nice move, Fulton!" Jesse said sarcastically.

"Maybe now he'll be quiet for awhile," Connie added.

"Will you guys stop it, he could be seriously injured!" Gordon said, running over to Tibbles' unconscious form. "Guy, go to the first aid area and get an ice pack. The rest of you help me get him on the bench."

The team groaned, but helped Gordon lift Tibbles onto the bleacher. A few seconds later, Guy returned with the ice. "Here, Coach," he said, giving it to Gordon.

"Thanks." Gordon held the ice pack on Tibbles' head.

"Mr. Tibbles?" The delicate blond woman Tibbles had been walking with said. "Mr. Tibbles, can you hear me?"

Tibbles suddenly jerked awake. "I'll have a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake, please." 

The team laughed, and the woman smiled. "I think he'll be OK." She stood up and faced Gordon. "Oh, I'm sorry, he didn't get a chance to introduce us," she apologized. "I'm Michele MacKay, the team's tutor."

"I'm Gordon Bombay, their coach." Gordon shook Michele's hand.

"Who said we need a tutor?" Adam asked.

"I don't need no school!" Portman said defiantly.

"Now, Miss MacKay," Goldberg said, putting his arm around Michele's shoulders. "We're America's team. We should be concentrating on the game, right? May I suggest…optional attendance."

"Why that's a great idea…" Michele looked at Goldberg as if to say "what's your name?"

"Call me Goldberg," Goldberg said.

"Goldberg," Michele repeated. "Yes. School will be optional."

The team erupted in cheers. "However, however," Michele interrupted. "Should you not attend, you will not be eligible to play."

The cheers turned to groans, and Gordon smiled. "Team USA, you're dismissed!" He said. The team was staying at Twin Cities University dorms until they left for LA in three days.

The kids filtered out with grumblings of "she had us good" and "I thought she was serious!"


	5. Chapter Four: Let's Work Together

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The first part of this probably could have been in with the last chapter, but it might have been too long. I'm phobic about chapter length. But I _did _get the roping scene in here! Much of it is my own creation, since there's no dialogue in the movie for that part. Hope I did OK.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER FOUR – LET'S WORK TOGETHER

"This is more crowded than a truckload of cattle," Dwayne complained. It was the day after Team USA had met in their disastrous scrimmage, and for today's practice, Coach Bombay's first move had been to tie the team together with Dwayne's rope. Team USA was now a huddled mass of blue and red jerseys.

_"Somebody _better watch their hands," Julie warned.

"Aw, I smell something," Averman said.

"GOLDBERG!" The team accused.

"It wasn't me!" Goldberg tried to defend himself.

"No," Portman said proudly, raising his hands. "It was _me!" _

"Why do guys enjoy their gas so much, anyway?" Julie asked, sounding annoyed.

Dwayne was prepared to answer, but Coach Bombay jumped in. "I don't know how to make this any clearer," he said. "You are a team. You need to learn to work as one. Now as one, skate."

Half the team jerked to the left, the other half to the right. Soon the huddled mass of red and blue jerseys was squirming on the ice, everyone accusing everyone else of making the wrong move.

"You see?" Coach Bombay said. "Everyone goes his own way, everyone falls down. Now try again."

Getting up as one was even more difficult. Despite impassioned pleas from the team, Coach Bombay refused to untie them. When the kids were finally upright again, Portman commanded, "OK, everyone to the right!"

"Who made _you _boss?" Fulton countered. "Everyone to the _left!" _

The two boys' pulling made the fall even worse than the last time. "Ow!" Dwayne cried as he knocked heads with Portman.

"Hey, watch it, Tex," Portman said.

"You can argue all you want," Coach Bombay said. "But I am not untying you until you move as one."

It took half an hour of arguing, head banging, falling, and getting back up, but Team USA finally, _finally, _could skate as one. 

"Now you're getting it!" Coach Bombay affirmed. "That's it! Teamwork! Communication! Which way, Captain Charlie?"

"Right!" Charlie said, his voice muffled by the bigger Fulton in front of him. 

"Right turn!" Coach Bombay said, and the team lumbered after him. _"Charge!" _

"Man, Texan coaches don't do anything like this," Dwayne said. "Must be a Minnesota thing."

Two hours later, an exhausted Team USA took a knee at center ice. Julie was sweltering beneath her thick goalie pads. 

"You guys are starting to look like hockey players," Coach Bombay said. "You worked hard today. But hockey should also be fun." He picked up Dwayne's rope. "Ranger Dwayne?"

"Yes, sir?" Came Dwayne's thick Southern drawl.

"Round me up some stray cattle!" Coach Bombay commanded, tossing the rope to Dwayne.

Dwayne grinned. "My pleasure!"

The team quickly scattered to all corners of the ice, trying to get away from Dwayne's rope. The red-haired kid everyone called Averman was the first to go. Julie wasn't surprised. Averman seemed a bit slow.

"Here I come, Julie!" Dwayne warned, speeding towards Julie.

"No!" Julie said, backpedaling away, even though she knew Dwayne had her cornered. "Dwayne, no, no no!"

"Gotcha!" Dwayne exclaimed, throwing the rope around her.

"Aw, man…" Julie complained as Coach Bombay blew his whistle and called her out.

"Hey, little lady! I'm comin' for ya!" Dwayne yelled to Kaley. 

"Uh-uh, no you're not!" Kaley said, shaking her head.

"Yes I am!" Dwayne said, sending his rope out. But then it was almost like Kaley disappeared. "Huh?" Dwayne asked, looking around.

"Nice try, Cowboy," came a voice from behind him.

"Hey! Now that's cheatin'!" Dwayne said.

"No it's not!" Kaley said. "It's just an advantage of being short!"

Dwayne decided to take advantage of the moment and rope Kaley. "Gotcha _that _time!" He proclaimed.

"Shoot." Kaley removed the rope from her shoulders.

"Quick! He's coming!" Guy grabbed Connie's hand and pulled her away.

"I got the lovebirds!" Dwayne announced proudly.

"You're both out!" Coach Bombay yelled from the sidelines.

"I got the coach!" Dwayne said, slinging his rope around Coach Bombay. 

"Hey!" Gordon said in surprise.

"You tied _us _up!" Goldberg said. "Now we get to tie _you _up!"

"Uh-uh guys, uh-uh, no way…" Gordon's protests were to no avail as the team wound him up in Dwayne's rope.

Three days later, the team gathered in TCU's cafeteria for breakfast and the unveiling of the Wheaties box. The picture had been taken the day before and everyone was excited to see it.

"You kids ready?" Tibbles asked, standing in front of the huge "box," which had a white sheet thrown over it.

"Come _on, _show us!" Kaley said, her voice bordering on whining.

Tibbles whipped the sheet off the "box," revealing a picture of Team USA in their official warm-ups. "There you go."

Dwayne stood up and pointed to the picture. "Hey y'all, that's us!"

"Duh," Fulton said.

"And just in case anyone asks who you are…" Tibbles reached into a box and pulled out a smart-looking red, white, and blue jersey with the letters "USA" printed boldly on the front. 

_USA? _Charlie thought. _But we're the Ducks! _

"Brought to you by those wonderful people at Hendrix for all your hockey needs," Tibbles said, showing the Hendrix logo on the jersey's sleeve. "Fulton, there you go." He tossed the jersey he was holding to Fulton. "Coach, here's yours." He threw another one to Coach Bombay.

As the rest of the team flocked to the box, Charlie leaned over to Coach Bombay. "Looks great, Coach," he said quietly. "But we're the Ducks, and this stuff says Hendrix all over it."

"They're our sponsors, Charlie," Coach Bombay explained.

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said. "But can't we be USA Ducks? Or at least keep our own colors?"

Coach Bombay shrugged. "Business stuff," He said, getting up to talk to Tibbles. 

_Business stuff? _Charlie thought. _This is hockey! Not a business! _

"Hey Charlie! Catch!" 

Charlie looked up just in time to get his jersey right across the face. "Uh, thanks, Adam!"

Kaley had decided that living in Minnesota was a double-edged sword. The winters were cold and dry as could be. For Kaley's first winter in Minnesota, she'd gotten an unusual amount of snow. The second had been mild in the snow department but extreme temperature-wise. Maryland's winters were mild, and there was an occasional snowstorm. But they never lasted long. Minnesota's summers were hot, but lacked Baltimore's soggy, oppressive humidity. It was seventy-five degrees outside, so Miss. MacKay had decided to have school outdoors. On a seventy-five degree day in Baltimore, it would be too hot to even think about going outside.

"Ancient Greece was the beginning of Western civilization," Miss MacKay was explaining. "In Greece they didn't have professional sports or Wheaties boxes. So the athletes competed for another reason. Anyone know?"

"Falafels?" Goldberg tried.

"You wish, Goldberg," Connie said amidst other comments from the group.

Miss MacKay gave a patient smile and looked around. "Charlie?"

"Pride." Charlie answered.

"That's right," Miss MacKay confirmed. "The various states flew their flags and wore their home colors proudly."

"Did America always dominate?" Fulton asked hopefully.

The team gave annoyed remarks, while Portman defended, "It's a good question!"

"No," Miss MacKay shook her head. "America wasn't around back then. Keep in mind that compared to other countries, America is still very young. Still forming its own identity. America's a teenager, just like you."

"Like us?" Jesse asked.

Miss MacKay nodded. "You bet. A little awkward at times, but always right there on the verge of greatness."

Kaley smiled. That was a nice way to put it.


	6. Chapter Five: Getting Started

AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the record: the "name" Kestle really isn't a name at all. It's the Swedish word for "castle." Yes, I'm weird. I thought maybe an odd name would add a bit to my latest character. Who is she? Well, read and learn!

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER FIVE – GETTING STARTED

The two-hour flight to Los Angeles had been hair-raising to put it mildly. Goldberg wasn't happy about being backed up by a girl, and Julie wasn't happy about being the backup goalie. Despite being seated across the cabin from each other, Fulton and Portman argued the whole way about who would be the enforcer. Connie and Guy wouldn't stop glomming all over each other. Luis kept trying to put the moves on Alicia, the flight attendant. She deserved every one of them, but it still wasn't appropriate. Dwayne and Jesse terrorized each other, although about forty-five minutes into the flight it became friendly. Kaley just shook he head at the circus around her, did her schoolwork, and slept through most of the flight. Gordon wanted to follow her example, but he and Michele were too busy playing UN with the ones who wouldn't stop fighting.

But nobody was getting any sleep anytime soon. As soon as the 737 taxied to the gate and Team USA piled out, they were bombarded with questions from the press. Kaley shied away from the cameras and muttered "no comment," while Gordon and Michele had to pull Averman, Luis, Fulton, and Portman away. "You'll have plenty of time to entertain the press after our game against Trinidad tomorrow," Gordon said, dragging Averman away by the collar.

_"Trinidad?" _Jesse asked. "How do they learn to play hockey over there?"

"Same way we learn in Texas," Dwayne answered.

"How do you know, Cowboy?" Jesse asked.

"Hey, hey, hey," Michele cautioned. "Take it easy."

"Can you believe all these people are here to see _us?" _Guy asked as the athletes marched into the "opening ceremonies" of the Junior Goodwill Games. 

Connie glanced sideways at her boyfriend. "There are other sports here too, Guy," she said, "I'm sure some people are here to see them, too."

"Yeah, but we're the hockey players," Guy said, waving to the crowd. "We're the only ones who count."

Connie punched him playfully. She knew he was kidding. "Hey, there are the figure skaters," she said, pointing to three boys and three girls to their right. "Tammy!" She hollered, waving to Tammy Duncan. Tammy had been with the Ducks back when Coach Bombay first started. She'd never had much interest in hockey and had quickly gone back to figure skating.

The petite blond waved back. "I'll be at your game tomorrow night!" She said.

Connie gave a thumbs-up. "Great! Thanks!"

The USA/Trinidad game was going perfectly. Well, at least for USA. In the third period, they led six to nothing and had easily scored all their goals.

"Go Averman!" Jesse whooped as Averman scored another goal, bringing USA to a seven-point lead.

"Man, my little brother could score better than that!" Jesse turned around and saw a chubby black boy leaning over the box.

"Well, why don't you go pick on him, then?" Jesse challeneged.

"Ha-ha!" The kid taunted. "I ain't even _got _no little brother!"

"Jesse! Quit gabbing and get to the ice!" Coach Bombay ordered. "Show me you want it, son!"

As much as Jesse wanted to keep "gabbing" with the annoying kid, he obeyed Coach Bombay and went out to play.

"Hey!" Jesse cried as someone bumped him from behind, sending him face-first into Trinidad's net. "I'm gonna get you for that!" Jesse threatened, going after a random Trinidad player.

"Jesse!" Kaley said, trying to hold him back. "Relax! He isn't even the one who hit you!"

"Come on, Kay, let me at him!" Jesse said, trying to squirm out of Kaley's grasp.

The referee blew his whistle. "That'll be two minutes, game misconduct." 

"Aw, man…" Jesse complained as the ref led him to the box.

"He got you _bad!" _It was the same kid who'd been teasing Jesse earlier.

"Hey, come here, man!" Jesse said, trying in vain to climb over the glass. "I wanna talk to you!"

"Jesse! Knock it off!" Coach Bombay commanded.

"Hey," Charlie nudged Adam's shoulder. The two had been sitting in the box for most of the period, and Adam's attention had seemed to be everywhere but the game. "You got a girl in the stands?"

"Scouts," Adam pointed to two men in suits talking to each other. "Look at them."

"Don't worry about scouts, Adam," Charlie said. "Just play your best."

_Just play my best, _Adam thought. _If only it were that easy._

The buzzer began counting down to the end of the period. "Five, four, three, two, WE DID IT!" Gordon yelled, unable to contain his excitement as the kids ran over to the box, slapping high-fives and hugging each other.

"Great job, guys!" Gordon told them. "That wasn't a game, that was a statement!" 

The team cheered and dispersed to celebrate.

"Hey, this is good ice cream," Portman said. Coach Bombay had treated the team to ice cream after defeating Trinidad.

"Hey." Fulton slapped Portman's arm. "Look over there."

Portman looked where Fulton was pointing. A small, thin girl was seated at a table, reading a book. "Her?" He asked.

"Yeah," Fulton said. "I think she's here for the Games."

_"Everyone's _here for the games," Portman said, taking a long lick of his ice cream cone, which was quickly melting.

Fulton rolled his eyes. "Doofus, I mean she's an _athlete," _he said. "And a gorgeous one at that. Go talk to her!"

Portman looked at the girl and noticed for the first time that she was wearing a USA warm-up jacket. 

"Go on!" Fulton gave Portman a little shove.

Portman had never been criticized for being timid-in fact, he'd often been told he could benefit from being a little _more _timid-but talking to girls made him nervous. Being gentlemanly did not come naturally to him. More than once, he'd scared girls off by being what they considered "uncivilized."

"Come _on!" _Fulton urged, giving Portman a harder shove. "You checked every Trinidad player tonight in front of the whole world. You can talk to a girl."

Portman took a step over as a dollar bill fell from the girl's table. _Perfect, _he thought. "Um, excuse me," he said, leaning over to pick up the dollar bill. "I think you dropped this.

The girl looked up from her book. She _was _gorgeous, Portman realized. Her thin, light brown hair was pulled into a bouncy ponytail, and she had the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen."Oh!" She said, noticing the dollar bill in Portman's hand. "Thanks." She took it and put it in her pocket. "Hey, you're Dean Portman from the USA hockey team," she said. "I was at your game tonight. Nice work."

"Uh, thanks," Portman said, still a bit apprehensive. "I, um, don't think I got your name."

"Oh! Sorry," the girl apologized, extending her hand. "Kestle Carter," she said, pronouncing her first name _KES-lee._

Portman shook Kestle's hand, being careful not to squeeze too hard. "Nice to meet you, Kestle."

Kestle smiled. "So…Dean…would you like to sit down?"

"Oh, sure," Portman said, kicking himself for just standing there. He must have looked like a real idiot. He sat in the chair across from her. "So…Kestle, what sport are you competing in?"

Kestle's wide eyes got wider. "How'd you know I'm here for the Games?"

"You've got your warm-up jacket on," Portman said.

"Oh! Right," Kestle said with a nervous laugh. Portman was glad he wasn't the only one who wasn't sure how to act. "I'm a gymnast."

"Gymnast," Portman said, nodding. "Tough sport."

"But it's fun," Kestle said with another giggle.

An awkward silence developed between them. _OK, time to make the move, _Portman thought. "Can I buy you an ice cream?"

"Sure," Kestle said, smiling and standing up. "Thanks."


	7. Chapter Six: Meet the Vikings

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER SIX – MEET THE VIKINGS

The next day, Team USA had a press conference. They were all a little tired from their long night. They'd gotten in early, but nobody had gone to sleep for a very long time. At least, that was what Michele had inferred from their performance in school that morning. But now, standing up in front of the reporters, the kids looked wide awake.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Team USA hockey," Tibbles said from the podium. Michele saw Fulton yawning. Portman smacked him and said something which made Fulton smack him back.

"And the man chosen to lead them to the gold, Gordon Bombay," Tibbles continued. "Get the Hendrix Bear up here for some pictures." 

_Hendrix Bear? _Michele thought. A huge polar bear-or rather, some poor soul dressed like a polar bear-bounded up to the podium. The "polar bear" was wearing sunglasses and a blue T-shirt that said _HENDRIX _in red and white letters across the front. "Hi, everyone, it's great to be here!" He said, waving to the crowd as the team posed around him. A few pictures were snapped, and then Tibbles opened the floor for questions. 

A blond reporter stood up. "Team USA, how does it feel competing on an international level here in Los Angeles?"

The team responded with variations of "it's great" and "we love it."

"Well, they said it," Gordon said needlessly.

A heavyset, dark-haired man with glasses stood up. "Coach Bombay, the Vikings from Iceland are the heavy favorites. Their coach has already guaranteed victory. How are you going to handle that?"

Gordon stepped closer to the array of microphones on the podium. "Hard work," he answered confidently. "I think our team is ready to go up against the best in the world. Iceland may be tough, but we're Team USA and we're going all the way."

The crowd began to cheer, and Tibbles gave a thumbs-up as if to say "awesome."

"Team USA's going down!" Came a harsh voice from the back. Michele and the crowd turned around and beheld a large mean in front of a group of black-clad teenagers. "That's where you're going."

_Oh my goodness, that's the Iceland team! _Michele thought. _They sure do look intimidating. Maybe it's just an act. I _hope _it's just an act. _

"See you on the ice, Bombay!" The Icelandic coach called.

"Who is that?" Gordon asked Tibbles.

"That's Wolf Stansson, coach for the Iceland team," Tibbles said.

"Stansson from the NHL?" Gordon asked in amazement. "Wolf 'The Dentist' Stansson is coaching Team Iceland? You never told me that!"

"That guy's a dentist?" Ken asked, puzzled.

"It's a nickname," Charlie clarified. "He played one year pros. Got more teeth than he did goals. He punched out his own coach!"

"I heard they ran him out of the league _and _the country," Julie said.

The three looked towards the back of the conference area, where the press was trying to soothe the agitated Stansson. "What happened to free speech? Huh? Isn't this America?" The man was saying.

"That's his _team?" _Ken said. "Those guys are enormous!"

"Gordon!" Michele greeted the coach as he came off the platform. "How'd I do?" He asked.

"Great!" Michele said. "Quite a circus, huh?"

"All part of the game," Gordon said naturally.

His response alarmed Michele a bit. "A giant polar bear with sunglasses is part of hockey now?" She asked. "I guess the game's changed a bit."

"Gordon!" Tibbles said. "You're on CNN. This way."

Gordon looked at Michele and shrugged. "CNN!" He dashed away.

_CNN? _Michele thought. _I really hope he's not getting too carried away with all this. _

"Hello, Missy, how 'bout a bear hug?" The Hendrix bear said amiably, rushing by Michele.

Michele turned away, hoping the bear would think her uninterested. _I need air._

"Don, what are we doing in Malibu?" Gordon asked as Tibbles drove the sleek blue convertible up to a large, contemporary house. "This is way out of our way."

"This is your new place, Gordon," Tibbles said, stopping the car. "You take care of Hendrix, and Hendrix will take care of you."

"I don't mean to be a wet blanket here," Gordon got out of the car and closed the door, "but shouldn't I be closer to the team?"

Tibbles didn't respond, he just opened the door and allowed Gordon inside the monstrosity. The house was absolutely gorgeous. The marble floors were so highly polished that they gave whoever was walking on them a surreal feeling of walking on air. Plush leather furniture sat in the corner, absolutely begging Gordon to sit on it. And out the huge windows was a stunning, picturesque view of the beach.

"You know, they don't need me twenty-four hours a day," Gordon said, turning to Tibbles. "I'm sure they'll be just fine in the dorms."


	8. Chapter Seven: Just Fine in the Dorms

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This and chapter 6 probably could have been one chapter. But like I said, I'm phobic about chapter length.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER SEVEN – JUST FINE IN THE DORMS

"You ready?" Goldberg whispered to his partners in crime, Ken and Luis, as they tiptoed over to Dwayne's bed.

"Yeah." Luis held up a can of shaving cream.

"OK, let's do this." Goldberg gently took Dwayne's hand and filled it with shaving cream.

"Ken! His hat." Goldberg said. The small Asian boy reached for Dwayne's cowboy hat and took out the feather. Luis took the feather and tickled Dwayne's fsace with it.

"Harder!" Ken said when Dwayne didn't move.

"No!" Goldberg hissed. "We want him to get shaving creamed, not wake up!"

Portman and Fulton had been lucky enough to be the only two in their room. Or perhaps the rest of the team should have been called lucky. At the moment, they were getting ready for bed.

"Little tuneage to go to sleep by?" Fulton asked, putting a cassette into the stereo between their beds.

"Yeah," Portman agreed.

Fulton gave a sly grin and hit the play button. Loud, heavy-mettle, head-banging music blasted from the stereo.

"Sweet dreams, Dude." Fulton said, climbing into bed.

"Sh!" Goldberg ordered, clamping his hand over Ken's mouth. Dwayne's face was now completely shaving creamed, and the three culprits could barely contain their laughter. Luis grabbed his pillow and tried to use it to stifle his laughing. 

"Oh, shoot, he's waking up!" Ken whispered urgently. "Quick, hide!"

But there wasn't enough time. Dwayne's eyes opened and his hand reached up to feel his face. _"AHHHH!" _He yelled, jumping out of bed at his attackers. 

"SHAVING CREAM FIGHT!" Goldberg hollered, spraying the cream at Luis.

"I'll get y'all for this!" Dwayne promised, tackling Ken to the ground.

"What is that _noise?" _Connie yawned, sitting up in bed.

"Go to sleep, Connie," Julie mumbled from her bed across the room.

"Someone's playing really loud music," Kaley observed from her air mattress on the floor. "And my air mattress needs to be pumped again."

"I wish Coach Bombay were here," Connie said. "Miss MacKay can't go into the boys' dorms."

"Sort of weird, huh?" Kaley asked. "We can have the same locker room as the boys, but we can't go into their dorms."

"Go figure," Julie said. "Why do you think Coach Bombay went off to Malibu?"

"You think he's letting this go to his head?" Connie asked. "I don't want to talk behind his back or anything, but he's talking to the press a lot, more than he's talking to us-" She suddenly stopped. "Oh, Kaley, I'm sorry." 

"Nah, don't worry about it." Kaley said. "I've noticed it too. Is that what he did when he first came to you guys?"

"Well, he didn't talk to the press," Connie said. "But all he thought about was winning. It was like, his ultimate goal. He was a major pain in the neck."

"Sure am glad he straightened out before he came to me," Kaley said. "I wouldn't want to live with someone like that."

"We've been doing OK so far," Julie said. "I think we'll be all right in the Iceland game."

"Did you _see _them?" Connie asked. "They're huge! I mean, all of us put together probably weigh as much as one of their players."

The music stopped, and the three girls let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." Julie said.

"Now we should probably go back to sleep," Kaley said. "We have a game tomorrow."

"I can tell you it's great to be here," Gordon told the reporters gathered around him. "The people at Hendrix have been fabulous." He looked at his watch. "And I've got a game against Italy right now, so I'll talk to you right after we win!" He left the mass of cameras and microphones and walked towards the ice.

"Good luck tonight, Coach," a young redhead said.

"Thank you!" Gordon responded.

"Go get 'em, Coach," a black man in a pinstripe suit said.

"Thanks!" Gordon waved to the man. When he turned around, he bumped into a young woman walking through the doorway. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you," he apologized.

"No, no, it's my fault, I was being clumsy," the woman, whom Gordon guessed was around twenty-five years old, said. She studied him for a moment. "You're Coach Bombay!" She said. "You play well."

"Thank you," Gordon said.

"I mean your team," the woman clarified. "Your team plays well."

"I knew what you meant," Gordon said distractedly. _She's beautiful, _he thought. Her platinum blond hair disappeared to some unknown length down her back, and her equally light blue eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul. "So, uh, who are you?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"I'm the trainer for the Iceland team," the woman shifted the pile of folders into her left arm and extended her right hand. "My name is Maria-"

Stansson entered the hallway and said something to Maria in Icelandic. She responded, sounding confused, and Stansson spoke more harshly to her. She left, looking offended.

"You certainly have a way with the ladies," Gordon said affably, trying to lighten the mood. When Stansson didn't see the humor, Gordon quickly changed the subject. "We haven't formally met. I'm Gordon Bombay, Coach for Team USA."

"I know you," Stansson said coolly.

"Yeah, but do you know the _real _me?" Gordon asked, in another lame attempt to drag a laugh out of Stansson.

"You are confident," Stansson observed. "Cocky. American. I like it. It will make our triumph over you more enjoyable."

"Triumph?" Gordon asked. "Whoa, lighten up. We're all just here to-"

"Have a little fun, right." Stansson nodded. "We will, Bombay. We will." He walked off with a satisfied smirk.

_Yeesh, _Gordon thought. _This guy's worse in person than he was in the NHL._

Three periods at the net could really make a goalie tired. But Goldberg was not your usual goalie. He'd blocked every one of Italy's shots with little to no effort.

"Ha! Take _that!" _Goldberg said as he made a glove save. "Hey, big man, meatballs slowing you down?" He asked the Italian player, who looked rather frustrated. "Hey, how do you say in Italiano…wussy?"

That made the player really mad, and he charged at Goldberg, but the ref blew his whistle and took the player off.

"Goldberg!" Coach Bombay admonished from the box.

"What'd I say?" Goldberg asked innocently.

_Who taught these Italians to play hockey? _Fulton thought as Connie passed the puck. _Well, one more goal won't hurt. _He shot the puck through the Italian goalie's legs into the net. The buzzer began counting down.

"Go Fulton!" Connie yelled, giving him a high-five through her glove.

The buzzer finished, and the crowd erupted. _Ten to one, _Fulton thought. _Think we can keep this up for tomorrow night? _

Kestle tried to hide a yawn and chalked her hands. She was trying desperately to conceal her sleepiness, as she knew it would earn her nothing but extra conditioning and a lecture from her coach, Jodie Clark.

"Hey, Kestle, heard you were out after curfew last night," Keslte's teammate and best friend, Kathryn Dallings, said.

_Busted, _Kestle thought. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Meredith," Kathryn said.

"Kathryn, you _know _Meredith's a gossip magnet," Kestle mounted the uneven bars.

"She _also _said you were eating ice cream with Dean Portman," Kathryn said.

Kestle dismounted the bars and stopped cold. "That part's true."

"Really?" Kathryn squealed, running under the bar to Keslte. "What's he like?"

"He's nice." Kestle jumped up to the high bar and began her set of ten pull-ups.

"Kestle, this is _Dean Portman _we're talking about here!" Kathryn said, beginning her set of pull-ups. "All you have to say is 'he's nice'?"

Kestle dismounted. "He's _very _nice." She said, dropping to the mat and doing twenty push-ups.

"There's _gotta _be more to the story than this, Kestle." Kathryn began her own set of twenty push-ups.

Kestle stood up, more than a little anxious for this line of questioning to end. "Look, Kathryn, I'm going to the USA/Iceland game tomorrow. Do you want to come with me? There are some tickets left."

"I can't believe you're _asking," _Kathryn said. "Of _course _I'll go with you!"


	9. Chapter Eight: A Day Off

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another helpful name pronunciation: for you foreign language buffs out there, you'll probably know that "Chatelaine" is really pronounced _shah-teh-LAHN, _or something like that. For the sake of simplicity in this story, I've used an Americanization. Pronounce the "name" as spelled: _CHA-te-lane. _Once again, a long chapter. But most of this is my own writing.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER EIGHT – A DAY OFF

Saturday was Team USA's day off. Most of the kids had gone to the beach, or the mall, or to check out the local flavor. Portman was spending a little time with Kestle. They were just hanging around the UCLA grounds outside the dorms. So far, Portman had let Kestle do most of the talking. She was quite talkative, he noticed. So far he'd found out that she was twelve years old and hailed from Dearborn, Michigan, where her parents were both engineers for Ford Motor Company.

"So, Kestle," Portman started, breaking Kestle's monologue. "That's not exactly a name you hear every day."

Kestle laughed. "No, it's not," she said. "It's the Swedish word for 'castle.' My parents are into bizarre names. My older sister's name is Chatelaine. You know what that is? It's this old French word for the wife of a castellan. I don't even know what that is! My younger brother is Absolom. Isn't that awful?" 

"Absolom?" Portman could barely hold in a laugh. "What do you call him for short? Abs?"

"Yes, actually," Kestle answered. "And Chatelaine is 'Chatty,' even though she's really not.

"So what are your parents' names?" Portman asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Marten and Elizabeth," Kestle answered. "Very mundane names. I kind of wish they'd cared to give my brother and sister and me some boring names like that."

"I'm glad they didn't," Portman said. "I like your name. It's kind of…unusual. You know, it kinda…fits you."

Kestle turned to face him. "It fits me?"

"Yeah." Portman said. "Ya know…" He trailed off. Shoot, now came the time to be gentlemanly and eloquent. He wasn't very good at that. "It just…well, you're too interesting to have a normal name, like, you know, Jane or Kate or anything like that. It sort of makes you…stand out."

Kestle seemed surprised by Portman's little soliloquy. "Nobody's ever told me that before."

"Really?" Portman asked.

"No." Kestle smiled. "Thanks."

A silence developed between the two teenagers as they looked at each other. Portman found that he didn't care. He could have looked into those ice blue eyes all day.

Suddenly a whistle came, breaking the quiet. "Hey! Portman!" Fulton yelled. Portman and Kestle turned around to the other boy, who had his skate bag slung over his shoulder. "Luis and Ken and I are going over to Arrowhead to do some skating. Wanna come?"

Portman looked at Kestle. "You know how to skate?"

Kestle looked a bit embarrassed. "Can't say I do," she admitted. "You guys go ahead and have a good time."

"No way!" Portman said, standing up and dragging her with him. "I'll teach you."

"Teach me?" Kestle asked as Portman pulled her over to Fulton. "To skate?"

"Sure!" Portman said. "What size shoe do you wear?"

"Um…five." Kestle looked very puzzled.

"Good!" Fulton said. "We have some that will fit."

Kaley, Connie, and Julie had decided to spend their Saturday at the beach. At the moment, they were lying on their towels, soaking up some sun.

"Hey, Jules." Connie nudged the goalie. "That boy's looking at you."

Julie took off her sunglasses and squinted in the direction of Connie's finger. "Him? The blond?"

"No!" Connie said. "The guy next to him. The cute tanned one."

Julie continued her search. "Him?"

"Yeah!" Connie said. 

"What about him?" Julie asked.

"Come on, Julie!" Kaley sat up and took a break from her sunbathing. "He's hot. Go talk to him!"

"He probably just recognizes me from the Games." Julie laid back down on her towel.

"Uh-uh-uh!" Kaley lifted the other girl up. "Go! Say hi to him or something."

"Come _on, _guys…" Julie groaned.

"What are you, scared?" Connie asked. "The worst he can say is 'bite me.'"

"Now I feel better," Julie snorted.

"Look, just go over there and say hi," Kaley said. "That's all you have to do! You can run back here afterwards if you want."

Julie sighed and figured this would be the easiest thing. "OK, OK." She got up and walked over to the tan boy, totally aware of Connie and Kaley giggling behind her. "Um, hi," she said to the boy.

The boy turned around and smiled at her. _Oooh, check out the smile, _Julie thought, then inwardly slapped herself. _When did I become so boy-crazy? I said hi, now go back to Connie and Kaley. _But she couldn't move.

The boy looked at Julie as if trying to remember who she was, and Julie really wished she'd worn a less revealing bathing suit. "Hey, you're Julie Gaffney!" The boy said. "You're on the USA hockey team."

"You remember me?" Julie asked, shocked. "Even though I wear all those pad-all that gear?" She'd discovered that the word "pad" was best avoided around boys. 

"Yeah." The boy nodded. "I was at your game last night. You guys are terrific!"

"Thanks," Julie said.

"So, would you like to sit down?" The boy asked.

"Sure." Julie looked over the boy's head to Kaley and Connie, who whispered to each other and emitted dual squeals.

The boy followed Julie's gaze. "Who are you looking at?"

"Friends." Julie lowered herself onto the boy's beach towel. "What's your name?"

"Oh! Sorry." The boy extended his hand and flashed another smile. "Jack Raymond."

"Julie Gaffney." Julie shook Jack's hand. "But you seem to already know that."

"Where you from, Julie?" Jack asked.

"Bangor, Maine," Julie answered. "You?"

"Here, LA," Jack said. "How'd a pretty thing like you get stuck playing goalie?"

Julie smiled. That was quite the story. "Well, I'm the youngest in my family and I have four older brothers," she started. "They were all hockey players and told me I couldn't play hockey because I was a girl. So I decided to show them. And I don't know how I got stuck playing goalie. Just happened."

Jack nodded and looked at the concession stand across the beach. "You ever had a smoothie?"

"Smoothie?" Julie asked. "No."

Jack stood up and took her hand. "Let me be the first to introduce you," he said. "My treat."

Guy, Charlie, and Adam had spent the day at the mall, mostly because it was indoors and had air conditioning. They had absolutely no interest in shopping, but the ice cream stand was good, and it was cooler than outside.

"I'm bored," Guy complained over lunch in the food court. "I don't see how girls can spend a whole day here."

"Go figure." Charlie began poking his straw around his cup in a vain attempt to suck out the last drops of soda. "Hey, Adam, you OK?"

Adam jerked his head over, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. "Hm?"

"Are you OK?" Charlie repeated. "You've been really quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Adam responded. "Just nervous about tomorrow."

"Yeesh, Adam, that's why we have this day off," Guy said. "To keep us from being nervous tomorrow."

"I'm OK," Adam tried to assure his teammates. "Really." He rubbed his right wrist. It was sore for some reason. _Maybe tendonitis, _he thought absently. _That would really stink. _

Charlie playfully punched Adam on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Adam," he said lightly. "We've kicked everyone's butts so far. Try to be a little more optimistic about tomorrow, OK?"  
Adam nodded. But he wasn't really worried about the game. He was worried about his dad. If Team USA didn't win, or if they did win and Adam played poorly, he'd never hear the end of it.

"All right, Kestle, let's try this." Portman gently-gently by Portman standards, anyway-helped Kestle onto the ice. They'd nabbed Kaley's skates from her locker and hoped Kestle wouldn't do anything that would let Kaley know her skates had been borrowed. 

"I feel tall in these," Kestle said, grabbing onto Portman's hands for dear life. "Are you sure Kaley won't mind?"

"She'll never know," Portman said as Kestle hesitantly put both feet on the ice. "OK, first thing we do is-"

_SPLAT! _Kestle fell and hit the ice hard. "Ooch!"

"You OK?" Portman asked, helping her up. 

"Oh, yeah, yeah, Dean, I'm-whoops!" Her skates went out from under her again, and this time Portman wound up on top of her.

"Look at them," Ken observed from across the rink. "They're in _love." _

"How do you know?" Fulton asked. 

"I can just tell," Ken said, nodding confidently and watching the _Saturday Night Live-_esque scene on the other side of the ice.

"I don't think Portman's the type to fall in love," Luis put in, starting to skate. 

Ken shook his head. "This girl's got him good."

"All right, all right," Portman laughed as he and Kestle righted themselves. "So now you're standing. Let's-"

_"Look out!" _Luis slammed into Portman and Kestle full speed, sending both of them sliding over the ice and into the boards.

"Luis!" Portman stood up. 

"Sorry," Luis apologized lamely. "I just got out of control."

"I'm OK," Kestle picked herself up with no small help from the boards. "Let's try that again."

Dwayne, Goldberg, Jesse, and Averman were spending their day in Beverly Hills. It was quite impressive, especially to three kids who'd never left Minneapolis and one who's never been out of Austin. They'd been on Rodeo Drive, which Dwayne insisted was pronounced "rodeo", as spelled, for about an hour. They were having great fun pulling pranks on the snooty stores, which wouldn't let you in unless you rang a doorbell. So far, the foursome had been refused everywhere because they were "unsupervised children."

"I got one," Goldberg said as they walked up to the hoity-toitiest store yet.

"What?" Dwayne asked. 

"You'll see." Goldberg said, pressing the button.

"I'm sorry, we do not allow unsupervised children into the store," a prim female voice said from the speaker.

"I'm sure Uncle Aaron would be very disappointed to know we were treated with such disrespect," Goldberg answered.

"Aaron," the voice said, as if she'd just been stopped in her tracks. "Aaron Spelling?"

"No, Hank Aaron!" Goldberg said sarcastically. "Of course, Aaron Spelling!"

A pause. Then, "I'll be right with you."

"Goldberg!" Dwayne said. "Do you really expect her to believe that?"

"It worked!" Goldberg defended himself.

"We look _nothing _alike," Averman pointed out.

"Yeah, no one's gonna believe we're even related," Jesse put in.

"Dwayne!" Goldberg exclaimed, looking at the Texan boy. "Take off your jacket! She'll recognize us for sure if you're wearing that."

Dwayne removed his jacket and tied it around his waist just as the saleswoman walked down the long path from the store to where the boys stood. She was probably in her early forties. She was definitely from around here, Goldberg decided. She was wearing a very swank black suit, black heels that could _not _have been comfortable, and flawless makeup. Her blond hair was pulled into an impeccable style that had to hurt her head. But around here, Goldberg had discovered that style was everything.

"My name is Mary Anne," the saleslady introduced herself. "Follow me, right this way."

The four boys followed Mary Anne somewhat apprehensively into the store. "What are you boys looking for?" She asked.

"Something for my mom," Goldberg said, finding his voice.

Mary Anne opened the door to the shop. "I think I can help you with that," she said. "Now I want you to make yourselves at home. Feel free to get some beverages, and I'll be with you in a moment."

"Beverages?" Jesse asked, looking around.

"Over here," Mary Anne said, indicating four glasses filled with orange juice.

"JC Penney never does this," Averman said, taking one of the glasses.

"Sh!" Goldberg cautioned. "Pretend you know what you're doing." He raised his orange juice glass. "Cheers," he said.

"Cheers," the other three agreed, clinking glasses.

"I know you boys!" A saleslady folding some lacy underwear commented. 

_Oh, no! _Goldberg thought. _Busted! _"We're Aaron Spelling's nephews," he cut in quickly.

"No!" The lady said. "Team USA hockey! You guys are just great!"

"Thanks," The four answered nervously. Hopefully, this woman wouldn't say anything to Mary Anne.

Mary Anne came back to the room. "Now, a gift for your mother," she said to Goldberg. "You'll want something light and airy. It is summer, after all. I'm going to show you my private collection."

_Private collection? _Goldberg thought as Mary Anne sat him and his teammates down in a room off to the side. _How private? _

"Ladies!" Mary Anne called.

Three models came out of a back room wearing skimpy, stylish, very Beverly-Hills-like clothing. _Yow, _Goldberg thought. _My mom's never gonna wear that. _When he found his voice, he managed, "Naw, something else."

Mary Anne nodded and brought out three more models. The clothing was even wilder than before. _Maybe I should get something, just to see the look on Mom's face…nah, probably too expensive. _He shook his head, now completely unable to speak.

After Goldberg had waved the models off three more times, Mary Anne said to them, "Well, gentlemen, did you see _anything _you liked?"

Goldberg began racking his brain for a creative way to get out of this. "No, I gotta be honest with you," he said. "My mom really needs…a bikini."

Mary Anne narrowed her eyes. "Out," she said. "Now! And don't ever come back here again!"

"Aw, man," Goldberg said as Mary Anne slammed the door shut.

"That was good while it lasted," Jesse said.

"If Coach Bombay finds out about this, we're gonna die," Averman said.

"No, we won't," Goldberg assured him. "Coach Bombay's too busy talking to all those celebrities to be concerned with us."


	10. Chapter Nine: Breaking Apart

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hi, I'm back! I'm sorry this chapter is long. I thought of trying to break it into two but decided not to. Sorry for the long wait, too. Oh yeah, and I changed Gunnar's name. Why? Cause I'm a foreign culture buff and although I try to be accommodating with movie goofs and stuff, this was one I could not let slide. I will post the explanation in the reviews.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER NINE – BREAKING APART

It was a warm night in Los Angeles. Despite the fact that it was way past Team USA's curfew, Portman and Fulton were out perusing the city. They knew Coach Bombay was living it up in Malibu with the "cake-eaters", as Jesse would say. The "Bash Brothers," as Portman and Fulton had become known, were in no danger of being caught.

"So, what do you think of Kestle?" Fulton asked.

"She's nice," Portman responded neutrally.

"You like her, don't you?" Fulton asked, already knowing the answer. 

Portman looked uncomfortable for a few seconds. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"Don't blame you," Fulton said. "Come on, she's hot. Did you ask her to come to the game tomorrow?"

"She already has tickets," Portman said. "She's bringing her friend Kathryn with her. We're gonna go to Friendly's after the game's over."

"See?" Fulton said. "She just needs to-" He yanked his friend back.

"What?" Portman asked. "What was that-"

"Sh!" Fulton cut him off. "Look!" He pointed to two figures leaving the ice cream stand. It was Coach Bombay with a gorgeous blond-haired woman. Her whole outfit could not have had more than two yards of fabric to it. She wore a pleather micro-mini with a white, skintight crop-top and dark denim jacket.

"That's the Iceland chick!" Portman said as their coach and the woman walked down the sidewalk. "What's he doing with her?"

Fulton shook his head in disdain. "Some coach we've got."

The next day Team USA was getting ready for their game against Iceland. The locker room was a flurry of activity, as it always was. Nobody admitted to being nervous, but Kaley could tell from the general chattiness that everyone was more anxious than usual. But they were undefeated so far. How bad could Iceland really be? USA had already downed Canada, the world's foremost experts in hockey. It _had _been close, but USA had still won.

"Hey, how did this happen?" Kaley held up her right skate, which had a long scratch along the inside arch. At the locker next to hers, she noticed Ken looking away. "Ken? You know anything about this?"

Ken shook his head innocently.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter," Kaley said, sitting on the bench to put her skates on. "As long as I can skate in them, who cares what they look like?"

"All right, Team, we have warm-ups in twenty minutes, let's go!" Kaley jerked her head up at the sound of her father's voice. The team began to cheer, but it fell flat when they took in their coach's nerdy tweed suit and awful hairstyle. It was so slicked back it looked solid.

"Nice haircut, did you lose a bet?" Averman asked.

Kaley stifled a giggle and tried to hide it by tying her skate.

Portman and Fulton cornered Coach Bombay. "Did you have a good night last night, Coach?" Portman asked.

"Yes," Coach Bombay answered.

"What did you do?" Fulton asked.

"Just watched TV and got to bed early," Coach Bombay responded evenly.

"But not without a little dessert, right?" Fulton asked, heading back to his locker.

"Some ice cream, maybe?" Portman said, following Fulton and leaving their coach to wonder what that little interrogation had been about.

"Three minutes to game time," Kestle said, looking at her watch.

"Not like you're counting or anything," Kathryn said. "Admit it, Kestle. You like him."

Kestle took a bite of her hot dog. _Mm, if Coach Jodie saw me eating this, she'd kill me. _"Like who?"

"Dean Portman!" Kathryn said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Kathryn, let's not have this argument _now, _OK?" Kestle sighed.

"If you don't like him, then why are we here tonight?" Kathryn persisted.

"Because I bought the tickets two months ago," Kestle said. "And you were lucky enough to get your seat because Chatelaine had to back out."

"Uh-uh," Kathryn shook her head. "Kestle, Dean is _hot. _And a darned good hockey player, too. You ate ice cream with the guy, you let him teach you to skate, and you broke Coach Jodie's curfew. All for him! That's aggressive, girl!" 

"Kathryn, enough," Kestle said.

"Say you like him," Kathryn ordered.

"No," Kestle said firmly.

"Say you like him!" Kathryn tried again.

"No!" Kestle said defensively.

"Say it," Kathryn continued.

Kestle sighed in frustration. "A little."

"A little," Kathryn repeated. "Is that all I'm gonna get out of you?"

"Yes," Kestle said. "Now shut up and watch the game."

Jesse skated to center ice for the face-off. His confidence wavered when he saw the hulking, mean-looking Icelander that he was to face off against.

_"Darva tilan solis," _the boy said.

"What's that mean?" Jesse asked.

"You'll find out," the boy said disparagingly.

_Hope it means something good, _Jesse thought, readying himself for the face-off. 

The puck hit the ice. But it never went anywhere, because the Icelander threw himself at Jesse. The two tangled for a little while until Portman jumped between them and whacked the Icelander.

"That'll be a penalty!" The ref said. "Unprovoked!"

Portman rammed his elbow into the referee's chest. "Gimme a break," he muttered.

The ref picked himself up. "Now you're out!"

_"What?" _Portman protested

"You're throwing him out?" Coach Bombay called from the bench. "You can't do that! We're thirty seconds into the game!"

Jesse watched as the ref dragged an irate Portman off the ice. _Holy moly, this will be one tough game._

Goldberg watched an Icelander skate towards USA's net. _Watch the puck, watch the puck, _he told himself. But this Icelander made it very hard to watch the puck. Before Goldberg could to anything, the puck shot past him into the goal.

"Glove side?" Goldberg asked in astonishment.

"Hey Goldberg!" Came a voice in the stands. "I'll bet if that puck was a cheeseburger you'd stop it!"

_Punk, _Goldberg thought. _Where is he so I can have at him when the game's done? _

"Yee-haw!" Dwayne called, catching the puck as Connie passed it to him.

"Come on, Dwayne!" Coach Bombay yelled from the bench.

"Quick, pass it!" Fulton said urgently.

Dwayne tried to pass the puck, but two Icelanders who squashed him in between them thwarted his effort. "Ouch," Dwayne whimpered as he slid to the ice. _Darn it. _

Kestle and Kathryn sat in the stands, aghast at the game. "I thought you said USA was good!" Kathryn exclaimed.

"They are!" Kestle defended. "Or at least…they were. I didn't think Iceland would be this good!"

"Well, neither did Team USA," Kathryn said. "Otherwise they'd probably be more prepared."

Kestle nodded grimly and turned her focus back to the game.

"Ken," Coach Bombay said. "We need your help. What can you do for us?"

"Let's see." Ken thought for a second. "Triple axel, double toe loop, which should split the D, then a pirouetting touch for the goal."

"Show it to me, son," Coach Bombay said.

Ken nodded and hit the ice. Right as he started his first move, two huge Icelanders, whose jerseys read Sandersson and Stefansson smashed into him. All the wind left his tiny body as Ken picked himself up and hobbled back to the box, doubled over in pain.

"Was that it?" Coach Bombay asked.

Unable to speak, Ken simply nodded.

"I don't know why we're even staying," Kathryn griped. "USA's stinking the place out, and your boyfriend got thrown out a minute into the game. Let's go." She got up from her seat.

"No, wait," Kestle said. "I've heard these guys have a knack for coming through at the last minute."

"OK, fine," Kathryn agreed, sitting down again. "But if they blow it, you owe me an ice cream." 

"Got it," Kestle said.

"You didn't deny it," Kathryn said.

Kestle looked at her, puzzled. "Deny what?"

"When I said Portman was your boyfriend," Kathryn explained. "You didn't say he's not."

"I didn't hear," Kestle said. "But he's not."

"Where's our concentration?" Coach Bombay demanded of the discouraged Team USA. "You're all running around there like chickens with your heads cut off!"

"We're doing our best!" Jesse defended.

"Well, your best isn't good enough," Coach Bombay said coldly. "We are one loss away from elimination. You may want to go home early, but I don't."

"My, wasn't that inspiring," Averman muttered.

As the second period started, Iceland led four to nothing. A big oaf named Sandersson got one in past Goldberg. Julie was tired of being a spectator. She hadn't played yet in the whole tournament. 

"You're off, Goldberg!" Coach Bombay yelled. "Julie! You're up."

"Thanks," Julie waddled out of the box and began lumbering across the ice in her cumbersome goalie gear.

"Good luck, Julie," Goldberg panted as he skated past her. "You're gonna need it."

"Thanks, Goldberg," Julie responded, situating herself in the goal. She took her helmet off and began adjusting her gloves when two heavily accented male voices began teasing her from behind.

"Never send a woman to do a man's job," one of them mocked.

"Don't break a nail," the other said.

Julie turned around. "I'm sorry, boys," she said sweetly. "But, could you help me with my pads, please?"

The two Icelanders turned to each other. "Yow," they said in unison.

Julie took advantage of the distraction and shoved them to the ice. The ref blew his whistle. "You're out of the game, young lady!" He called.

Julie looked at the boys, still in shock on the ice. "See you around, boys," she said as the ref led her off the ice.

"Thanks for the breather," Goldberg said, going back to the goal.

"Go Julie!" Connie and Kaley cheered in unison.

Julie gave them a half-smile. _Well, at least I went out in a blaze of glory, _she thought.

Adam took the puck and shot it into Iceland's net for USA's first goal. "Yes!" He shouted, raising his right arm in triumph. Suddenly, Sandersson brought his stick down on Adam's wrist. Adam managed not to yelp as a jolt of pain shot up his arm. _That's my sore wrist, _he though in dismay, pulling his hand out of his glove. 

The ref gave Sandersson a two-minute penalty. "That's it?" Coach Bombay roared from the bench. "Come on! What kind of call was that?"

Adam examined his wrist. _It's already swollen, _he thought in dismay. _Maybe it will just get better. It _has _to get better. _

USA got their heads handed to them. Twelve to one. Kestle was absolutely numb as the crowd filtered out of the arena.

"Well, that was an evening well-spent," Kathryn said, standing up.

"Oh, gosh, Kathryn, I'm sorry," Kestle said. "I didn't know! They've been so good so far! I guess they weren't expecting this."

"Yeah, well, let's just hope it's not a preview of what _we _have to look forward to," Kathryn said. Team USA gymnastics was scheduled for the gold medal match up in three days. They stood in fourth place. Their toughest competition would be from Russia, who was in second. Team USA was desperately hoping for a shot at a medal.

Kestle looked around for Dean, but didn't see him. "What are you looking for, you lovestruck goof?" Kathryn asked, grabbing her arm. "Come _on!" _

Kestle allowed Kathryn to pull her out of the arena. _Oh, well. Dean probably doesn't want to talk anyway._

Team USA sat in the locker room for what they were sure would be a good dressing-down. Nobody was looking forward to it, but Kaley felt worst of all. She hated being yelled at. Even though her dad would be yelling at the team, she was part of the team, and felt like she was the one being yelled at.

"Twelve to one," Gordon said, pacing the floor in front of the team. _"Twelve _to _one. _Do you know what comes to mind when you think of that?"

_Pitiful? Embarrassing? Humiliating? Shameful? _Kaley thought.

_"Pathetic!" _Gordon spat out. "You guys were brought here to play hockey!"

Kaley ducked her head so her father wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes.

"What about you?" Jesse asked.

"What about me, Jesse?" Gordon responded.

"Coach Stansson and his team knew everything about us," Julie said. "They were ready for us!"

"Yeah, and you've just been driving around in convertibles talking with all those sponsor fools," Luis said angrily.

"And eating ice cream with the Iceland lady," Fulton interjected.

"We saw you two last night," Portman put in.

Kaley's eyes widened. _Dessert…ice cream…oh my gosh! _That's _what they were talking about! _She thought, remembering Portman and Fulton's little interrogation of her dad before the game started.

"Eating ice cream with the enemy, huh, Coach?" Fulton asked.

Gordon looked really angry now. "What _I _do is none of _your _business," he said coldly. "Is that clear?"

The team nodded and began to take off their gear. Kaley couldn't wait to get back to the dorms and have a good cry.

"Don't take those pads off!" Gordon snapped. "Everyone stay in your gear. We have practice."

Kaley could almost hear her teammates' jaws dropping. _"Tonight?" _Goldberg asked in disbelief.

Coach Bombay blew his whistle for the team to stop their sprints. Charlie took his helmet off and stopped next to his coach. "This isn't very much fun, Coach."

"Who said it was supposed to be fun?" Coach Bombay asked.

"You did," Charlie said. "When you were coaching the Ducks."

Coach Bombay looked around the arena. "I don't see any Ducks here, Charlie," he said. "All I see is Team USA, one loss away from elimination." He turned back to the team. "Twenty more sprints! Everyone! We'll do this all night if we have to."

Charlie skated up to Kaley. She looked ready to cry. "You OK?"

Kaley nodded, although she looked very far from OK. "Is this what he used to be like?"

"Worse," Charlie said.

"Charlie! Kaley!" Coach Bombay barked. "Move it!"

Charlie and Kaley began sprinting. _Boy, this sure is a letdown, _Charlie thought.


	11. Chapter Ten: Back to Basics

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm back! Sorry for the long time between updates. I have carpal tunnel and my MS Word was down for awhile, so it was hard to type. But now I'm back in full swing. The story's about halfway done.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER TEN – BACK TO BASICS

Michele was appalled at the teams' performance in school the next day in school. She almost always had to ask Dwayne, Portman, Fulton, and Connie to pay attention. But now her reliable ones-Ken, Julie, Adam, Kaley, and Charlie-were spacing out. "Spacing out" wasn't the right word. They were falling asleep at their desks.

"Luis." Michele crouched by Luis' desk. "Luis, wake up."

Luis' eyes flickered open. "Oh, sorry," he mumbled sleepily.

Michele stood at the front of the classroom and folded her arms. "All right, out with it: why are you so tired today?" She demanded.

"Captain Blood made us practice last night," Averman managed through a yawn.

_"Captain Blood?" _Michele asked.

"Coach Bombay," Julie clarified. "He made us practice until two in the morning."

"Yeah, and then he gave this whole long speech about winning," Portman put in. "It was all he talked about."

"He told us at our first practice that hockey should be fun and not just about winning," Kaley said tiredly. "But he sure didn't act that way last night."

Michele had to agree with what they were saying. But she didn't verbalize it. "Everyone, go up to your dorms," she said. "You need to rest."

Sighs of relief rose from the team as they stood up. Michele made another executive decision. "I'm also canceling your practice."

The team gave a weak cheer as they headed for the door. As they did so, Michele stopped Adam. "Adam, are you OK?" She asked.

"Yeah," Adam said unconvincingly. "I'm just tired."

"You were holding your wrist a lot today," Michele observed. "Is it all right?"

Adam rubbed his wrist. "Sure, Ms. MacKay," he said uncomfortably.

Michele nodded, deciding not to press the issue further. "All right," she said, letting him go.

As soon as the sleepy Team USA was gone, Michele went outside and grabbed a taxi to the arena. This had gone far enough. She was going to the wait in the team's locker room and confront Gordon.

At two-thirty, Gordon entered Team USA's locker room. "OK, kids, let's move!" He called. But there was no response. "Team? Hello?" Gordon poked his head around the corner. The place was desolate.

"I cancelled their practice." 

Gordon turned around. Michele stood in front of him. Her arms were crossed and she looked decidedly unhappy.

"What?" Gordon asked. "Why?"

"They needed a day off," Michele stated simply.

"I need them here to practice!" Gordon argued.

"They need to rest," Michele countered. "Gordon, you've been running these children ragged! They're falling asleep in class! They're calling you Captain Blood!"

"I am preparing these kids for battle!" Gordon said, beginning to get angry now. "We win the gold, we go on to bigger things."

_"Bigger things?!" _Michele exclaimed. "Gordon, it's a _game! _You said it yourself, games should be fun!" Her voice dropped an octave and became more neutral. "Remember?"

Despite Ms. MacKay's orders to rest, Team USA was on UCLA's soccer field doing calisthenics. 

"Coach Bombay's not here, so why do we have to be?" Fulton asked.

Goldberg stopped his stretching. "I say mutiny. Who's with me?"

"Goldberg, I'm too tired for mutiny," Dwayne yawned from the back row.

"It's not like we can't use the conditioning," Julie pointed out.

Portman gave her a disdainful look. "Speak for yourself, babe!"

"Her name's Julie, not Babe," Adam protested.

"Don't tell me how to talk, Rich Boy!" Portman gave Adam a rough shove.

"Leave him alone!" Charlie dove in the middle. This could get out of hand fast.

"Hey, Team USA! What are you gonna do today, a million jumping jacks?" It was the black kid who'd been picking on Team USA at the games. Charlie thought he'd heard someone call the kid Russ.

"You know, I'm getting sick of you!" Jesse yelled.

_There goes Jesse shooting his mouth off again, _Charlie thought.

"And _I'm _sick of seeing the USA represented by a bunch of wussies!" Russ countered.

"Too bad you can't back up that mouth!" Jesse shouted.

"My boys can take you anytime, anywhere," Russ boasted.

"I bet you ain't even _got _no boys!" Jesse shot back.

"I got 'em waiting!" Russ said. "Why don't y'all come with me and play some schoolyard puck?"

"Do you have clearance, son?" A security guard asked.

"Come on!" Russ said, ignoring the guard. "Are you coming or not?"

As the guard pulled Russ away, Team USA huddled together. "He's bluffing," Jesse said.

"Yeah, me too," Portman agreed. "Let's stay here."

"Maybe he's serious," Connie suggested.

"Yeah, and think of what wimps we'll look like if we don't go," Kaley pointed out. "Even if he's just bluffing, we'll look like complete sissies if we stay here."

"And we'll look like chumps if he's not serious," Julie countered.

Charlie straightened. "I say we go. Let's run, before we lose him."

Team USA followed Russ all the way from UCLA into the ghetto. Soon the nervous Team USA was facing a bunch of tough-looking black kids, headed by James, Russ' brother.

"My little brother Russ here tells me you're getting your butts kicked," James said to Team USA.

That got Jesse mad. "Well, your brother's got a big mouth!"

James looked at Russ and smiled. "He does, doesn't he?"

Russ gave an innocent grin.

"Anyway," James turned back to Team USA. "We thought we'd play y'all and see what you got."

"Yeah, we know you can talk to the press and sign autographs," Russ said.

"We can do more than that," Luis defended.

"Yeah?" James challenged. "Let's play."

After much debate, James and Portman decided to take the face-off. Right off the bat, Portman got slammed into the fence.

_Aw, man, _Portman thought. _Glad Kestle couldn't see _that.

"Thank you!" Russ took the puck and easily got it into Team USA's goal. "Score one for the ghetto!"

"Hey, Adam!" Luis called for the puck. When he got it, he began speeding towards Team Ghetto's goal. "Whoa!" He cried as he spun out of control and hit the fence.

"Hey!" James said. "Use the brakes, man!"

_Brakes? _Luis looked down at his rollerblades. _Aw, no matter. Even if I know where they were, I couldn't use them. _

Charlie tried to hit the puck into Team Ghetto's goal, but it flew over the fence instead. "Oh, no!" Charlie cried as the puck landed on a car parked near the building across the street. 

"Don't sweat it," James said. "Happens all the time."

Charlie wasn't convinced. "Excuse me, sir?" He called timidly to the man walking towards the car. _This guy's gonna be ticked. _

The man looked at the puck on his hood, then up at Charlie. Smiling, he tossed the puck over the fence. Charlie let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you!" he called, hitting the puck into Team Ghetto's goal.

Kaley had been sitting on the sidelines. She loved hockey, but these kids were way too tough for her to play with. Maybe if she just sat back and made as little noise as possible, no one would notice she wasn't playing.

No such luck. "Hey, you!" Russ said, pointing to Kaley. "You've been sitting there the whole time! You get in here and play some puck with us!"

"Uh-uh," Kaley said. "You guys will tromp me. I'm not-"

Russ stopped in front of her. "What's the matter, little lady?" He asked. "You too dainty to play tough with us?"

Kaley was usually pretty shy around strangers, but _nobody _called her a little lady. She hated the word "lady." It made her feel like she was at a ball wearing an evening gown and heels. That prospect didn't appeal to her at all. And she hated little because…well, she was little and didn't like to be reminded of it. "No," she said defiantly, standing up and calling for the puck. "Over here, Fulton!"  
  


Fulton sailed the puck over to Kaley, but Russ intercepted it. Fulton watched as Russ tipped the puck on its side, and then hit it. It went spinning through the air and clanged into Team USA's goal.

"Whoa!" Fulton said in amazement, staring at the goal. "How'd you do that?"

"You like it?" Russ asked. "That's my knuckle puck. It's hard to be accurate, but it drives goalies nuts."

"All _right!" _Ken cheered as he got a goal in for Team USA.

"You go, Little Man!" Portman stood up and slapped Ken a high-five.

Adam stopped cheering when he saw James advancing on Ken. The bigger boy looked mad.

"Come here, little guy!" James challenged, closing in on Ken. "Yeah, come on! I want a piece of you!"

Ken backed away, looking frightened. Portman and Fulton assumed their bashing positions. But suddenly, James relaxed and smiled. "Relax, OK?" He said to Ken. "I'm just playing with you. But listen, when a big guy comes after you like I just did, you do this: stick," he dropped his hockey stick. "Gloves," he took his gloves off. "Shirt." He pulled Ken's shirt over his head. "Got it?"

Ken grinned. "Sure," he said, then practiced the move on James. "How was that?"

"Nice!" James said approvingly. "All right."

Team USA and Team Ghetto played for another half hour before deciding to go back to their dorms and rest like Ms. MacKay had said. As they waved goodbye to Team Ghetto, Team USA felt like new hockey players. They couldn't wait to put some of their new strategies to work in their game against Germany the next night.

A dejected Gordon Bombay entered his house in Malibu. He and Michele had argued in the locker room for God-only-know how long. The exchange had ended with Gordon storming out. He knew Michele was right-he'd been mistreating the kids. Gordon felt awful. 

As he walked across the spit-shine marble floor, Gordon suddenly felt so…fake. _This whole thing is just a ruse, _he thought, looking around. _How many other hockey coaches live in places like this? Besides professionals? I've been neglecting my responsibility to the kids. I'm worse than I was before the Ducks! _

The view of the beach suddenly didn't look so picturesque anymore. Gordon would much rather have been at UCLA with the kids, having late-night pizza parties and prank wars.

"This is no place for a coach."

The statement was gentle, but Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin. "Jan?" He asked, turning around. "What are you doing here?"

"I came by to visit," Jan said, sounding as if he lived next door rather than halfway across the country.

"Who's running the skate shop?" Gordon inquired, joining his old friend by the counter.

"We are closed," Jan said somberly. "For the first time in ten years."

Gordon nodded and looked at the floor.

"I saw the Iceland game on TV," Jan said. "Who was that man in the suit with wet hair? Was it raining?"

"It's a style, Jan," Gordon said, but he had to admit he didn't like it very much.

"You looked like you just got out of the shower," Jan stated bluntly.

"You came two thousand miles to make fun of me?" Gordon asked, slightly flustered. "You could have done this over the phone!"

Jan turned to face Gordon. "Gordon, when I told Hendrix about you, I did not tell them about your good looks," Jan said. "I did not tell them you would win at any cost." He paused a moment before continuing. "I told them you were a man who loves the game. I told them you would teach the kids about more than just winning or losing. I told them you were the Minnesota Miracle Man, and only you could teach them to fly. So be that man, Gordon."

"Always around to take me down a notch," Gordon said. "And the worst part is, you're always right."__


	12. Chapter Eleven: Flying Together

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Oh my gosh! I swore I'd never become one of those writers who leaves stories un-updated for months on end. Sorry about that. I'll try to update faster from now on.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER ELEVEN – FLYING TOGETHER

Team USA sat on the bench at Arrowhead Pond, waiting to play their game against Germany. It was five minutes to game time and Coach Bombay still wasn't there.

"Where do you think he is?" Guy asked.

"Maybe he decided we're not worth the effort," Goldberg suggested.

"I say he forgot," Jesse asserted. "Too busy with the cake-eaters to worry about us."

"Hey, Team USA!" The team turned around at the sound of Tibbles' voice. "Do great today, all right?" The smile left his face. "Where's Gordon?"

"You tell us!" Luis said indignantly.

Tibbles looked at Kaley. "Kaley, have you seen him?"

Kaley raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, don't ask me," she said. "I'm staying as far away from him as the rest of you."

"Team USA!" A referee in his fifties skated up to the bench. "Without a coach on the bench, you forfeit the game."

"You can't make us forfeit!" Adam protested.

"That's the rules, son," the ref said.

"We have a coach!" Charlie said suddenly, jumping over the boards and skating to Ms. MacKay, who was walking to her seat. "Ms. MacKay!"

Ms. MacKay turned around. "Hey, Charlie," she said with a smile. "What's up?"

"You have to pretend to be our coach," Charlie said breathlessly. "Or we forfeit the game."

"Where's Coach Bombay?" Ms. MacKay asked.

"Pretend or we're out of the tournament," Charlie insisted.

"But I don't know anything about coaching!" Ms. MacKay said helplessly.

The ref skated over to Charlie and gave him a look that said. "Time's up."

"Here she is," Charlie said a bit sheepishly. "Our coach. Coach MacKay."

The team played along, saying "come on, Coach MacKay" and the like. Charlie relaxed a little.

Ms. MacKay gave a nervous shrug, then stood up on the boards and poked her head over the Plexiglas. "Well, what're you waiting for, the ice to freeze?" She barked. "Let's play!"

The ref shrugged and skated away. _Phew, _Charlie thought.

"Nice move, Charlie," Kaley said as Charlie hopped back in the box. "Ms. MacKay knows _nothing _about hockey!"

"We'll just have to help her out a little," Charlie said. "Don't worry. At least we're still in the tournament."

Towards the end of the first period, there was no score and Team USA was exhausted. "We look tired," Ms. MacKay said with a frustrated sigh. "We need to…trade places."

Charlie and Averman looked at each other quizzically. "Huh?" Averman asked.

"New players," Michele clarified. 

"Oh!" Charlie's face brightened in understanding. "Say 'change it up.'"

Ms. MacKay did as she was told. 

"Scream it," Charlie instructed. 

"Change it up!" Michele hollered.

The players skated back to the box, and five more went to the ice. "Cool," Ms. MacKay said with a satisfied smile, crossing her arms.

"Finally," Kaley muttered, plopping down on the bench next to Charlie. "Could you have waited any _longer _to tell her to say that?"

Charlie was about to answer when a strange sound came from above them. "What's that?" Guy asked.

"Sounds like the Duck whistle," Kaley said.

"Well, look who finally showed up." Fulton stopped skating and looked to the middle row of the arena. Coach Bombay was walking towards the box, blowing the Duck whistle. 

"Forget it, man," Jesse said. "Just ignore him."

"Bring it in!" Coach Bombay called as he reached the box. He looked different, Fulton thought with a start. The nerdy suit was gone, and so was the bad hair. In place of the suit were normal-looking blue jeans, a white polo shirt, and a USA varsity jacket. The wet hair was replaced by Coach Bombay's usual style, the one Kaley was always hassling him about.

_Well, he's still our coach, _Fulton said, following the rest of the team to the box. _I wonder what words of wisdom he has for us now. _

"Team…" Coach Bombay began, and then sighed. "Guys…I was wrong. I'm sorry. I forgot about the team, and the team is all I have. As long as we have that, there's another chance. I'm back, OK?" He straightened, a determined look on his face. "Believe me. I'm back."

The team broke into wild cheering. Fulton grinned. The old Coach Bombay was back.

The next day, practice was twice as hard. But the fun was there, and that made it all worthwhile.

Fun for everyone except Luis, that is. Luis stood on the ice in front of a stack of soda cans. _This should be a stopping drill like no other, _he thought.

"Luis, you speed is a great weapon." Jan placed a Pepsi can on the very top of the stack. "Now you must learn to harness it."

_Right. That'll be the day. _But Luis didn't voice his pessimism. He simply obeyed Jan's instructions and began to skate as fast as he could toward the pile of cans. But when he tried to stop, he failed.

"Argh!" Luis exclaimed as he crashed to the ice and obliterated the cans.

"Come on, Dwayne!" He heard Coach Bombay yelling. "Move that big butt! Go!"

Luis had to snicker. _Dwayne? Big butt?_ "Jan, I'll never be able to stop," Luis said. "It's just not going to happen. Can't I just go back with everyone else?"

Jan pointed to the starting line, and Luis got the message.

After practice the team quickly changed into their street clothes and ran out to the bus. Coach Bombay had promised to treat them all to a pizza party that night.

"Come on, Banks!" Portman called as he rushed out of the locker room. "Let's go!"

"Be right there!" Adam answered. Making sure nobody was watching, he sat down on the bench and reached into his locker. Beneath his gym bag was a roll of ace bandages. Quickly, Adam began wrapping it around his right wrist. It had been bothering him even more since Sandersson slashed it during the disastrous Iceland game.

"Now imagine how well you'd play with two good wrists."

Adam froze. _Oh, no, _he thought. "Coach!" He said, trying to cover his guilt. "It's just a little sore."

Coach Bombay didn't buy it. Adam could tell. "I should have noticed it sooner," Coach Bombay said, moving closer. "Sorry, Adam. I wasn't doing my job."

"Coach, I'm fine," Adam said insistently. "I can play. I swear."

"OK." Coach Bombay leaned into Ken's locker and pulled out his stick. "Rotate it."

Adam reached for the stick with his left hand.

"With the other wrist," Coach Bombay instructed.

Mentally, Adam kicked himself. Coach Bombay wasn't that stupid. Adam took the stick in his right hand and tried to rotate it. But the stick wouldn't move. He looked at Coach Bombay, begging him to let the issue go. But the man's gaze was unwavering. Seeing he'd lost the battle, Adam dropped the stick and sat down on the bench.

"I'll have to bench you," Coach Bombay said, no regret in his voice.

"No!" Adam cried, looking up. "You can't do that!"

"Adam, you could injure yourself permanently," Coach Bombay said gently.

"You can't bench me!" Adam continued. "I have to play! The scouts are watching! This is my shot!"

"Adam, you're young," Coach Bombay pointed out. "You'll have plenty of shots."

"But my dad's counting on me!" Adam regretted the words almost as soon as they'd left his mouth. He'd made a promise to himself not to let everyone else know the pressure his dad was putting on him. 

Coach Bombay's face softened. He sat down on the bench next to Adam. "Hey." Coach Bombay nudged Adam's knee, forcing him to look up. "My dad worked a lot when I was a kid. So when he made it to a game, I wanted so badly to score a hundred goals for him. I'd spend the whole game a nervous wreck; my stomach in knots."

"That's how I feel," Adam interjected.

Coach Bombay continued. "Before he died, my dad told me that his happiest times were watching me skate on the pond behind our house. He didn't need me to score a hundred goals for him. He was proud of me because I was his son, and I did my best. I'm sure that's how your dad feels."

_But it's not, _Adam wanted to say. _It's not. Can't you see that?_

"I know it is," Coach Bombay confirmed, obviously sensing Adam's uncertainty.

"Thanks, Coach," Adam said. His coach couldn't understand. Nobody could.

"Come on," Coach Bombay said. "Let's get that wrist looked at."

"Coach!" Charlie yelled excitedly, darting into his coach's office.

"Charlie?" Coach Bombay looked up from his desk. "What is it, Charlie?"

"With Banks out we've got one roster slot open," Charlie said. Adam's injury had turned out to be a stress fracture that Sandersson's blow had aggravated. He'd be able to play again, but not until after the Games.

"Right," Coach Bombay said slowly.

"Remember how I always said I'd make a better coach than a player?" Charlie asked. "I did some scouting."

"Scouting?" Coach Bombay asked, raising his eyebrows.

Charlie beckoned Russ into the room. "Russ Tyler, Coach Bombay," he announced.

"Hiya, Coach!" Russ said cheerfully.

"Well…Russ." Coach Bombay sat back, looking a bit overwhelmed. "What can you do for the team?"

Russ looked shocked. "You never heard of my knuckle puck?"

"Knuckle puck?" Coach Bombay asked with a slight laugh. "No."

The locker room after the USA/Russia game was a flurry of activity. USA had won, largely due to Russ' knuckle puck. Julie was hugging Connie when she heard Coach Bombay trying to make himself heard over the din. "I told him no visitors, but he wanted to congratulate you anyway."

Julie broke away from the hug and turned, looking for the "him" in question. Her jaw dropped when she saw who it was. Wayne Gretzky!

The slack jawed Team USA didn't stay slack jawed for long. All at once, they swarmed around Wayne like bees. "Wow!" "Wayne Gretzky!" "Can I shake your hand?"

"Guys, this is The Great One!" Charlie said, stating the obvious.

"Wayne's fine," Wayne insisted.

Tibbles tried to pose the ecstatic Team USA for a picture. When they finally posed around Wayne, Tibbles aimed the camera. "Everyone say, 'hockey!'" He ordered, his finger over the shutter release.

"HOCKEY!" Was the deafening chorus as Tibbles snapped the picture.


	13. Chapter Twelve: USA Gymnastics

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm doing my best to make this part accessible for non-gymnasts. Gymnastics is a hard sport to write about (if you think it's hard to _write _about it, try _doing _it!) but I have done my best, which is part of the reason it took so long. For the gymnasts out there, I am using a Prep-Optional/AAU/NCAA scoring system, in which (I believe) the gymnasts start with a score of ten. It was just easier than having to explain the USAG system. And yes, the ending to this is very similar to the 1996 Atlanta Kerri Strug story. But it had to have some sort of spectacular ending.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER TWELVE – UNTITLED

"Go Kestle!" Portman hollered from the stands. He and Fulton had managed to snag tickets to the gold medal gymnastics competition. Portman was much more excited than Fulton.

"Why are we even here?" Fulton asked, reaching into the popcorn box between them.

"_I'm _here because I want to root for Kestle," Portman said. _"You're _here because you like Kathryn."

"I do not!" Fulton protested.

"Well, _she _likes _you," _Portman amended. "That's why she was giving you goo-goo eyes at the ice cream stand last night."

"She _is _cute," Fulton admitted.

"Hey! There they are!" Portman pointed to a group of seven red, white and blue-clad girls marching in, headed by a woman and a man in matching outfits.

_"Psst!" _Kathryn nudged Kestle as they waved to the enthusiastic crowd. "There's Dean."

Kestle looked around the stands for a moment, finally spying Dean and Fulton sitting two rows up from the uneven bars. "Yeah, and Fulton's there, too."

"Who?" Kathryn began waving to the crowd with both hands.

"Dean's buddy," Kestle clarified, ignoring a boy in the nosebleed section holding up a huge sign that read, _"Marry Me Kestle." _ "The one you like."

"I do not like him," Kathryn said disparagingly. "He's fat and he needs a haircut."

"Those can both be taken care of," Kestle said. "What matters is-" She bumped into the girl in front of her as the line stopped. "Sorry, Sonia," Kestle apologized quickly.

"What?" Kathryn whispered. The whole arena had gone silent.

"After," Kestle said.

"They're so small," Fulton observed.

"They're gymnasts," Portman pointed out. "They have to be small."

"What place are they in?" Fulton asked.

"Um…" Portman looked through his program. "Fifth. Kestle told me they have tough competition from Russia. USA may not get a medal."

"I hope they do better than we did when they came to watch us," Fulton said.

Portman winced. "Me too."

"You ready, Kathryn?" Kestle asked her nervous friend. USA was starting on the uneven bars, and the second girl was halfway through her routine.

"No," Kathryn said in a half-whine.

Leighanne, the girl next to Kestle, looked around. "Careful," she said softly. "Coach Brad might hear that, and we'll be doing push-ups until forever."

Kestle nodded. Brad, the head coach, was a former Navy SEAL. He believed very strongly in physical discipline. If one team member messed up, everyone paid the price. He was a good coach, Kestle thought, but his way of discipline hadn't been very good for building team spirit.

"Yes," Kathryn's voice still hadn't lost its whining quality. 

"Come on, Kathryn, you'll do fine," Jenny tried to encourage. "You've done this routine a million times."

"But I _hate-" _Kathryn stopped as she saw Coach Brad look her way. "Bars isn't exactly my favorite event," she amended. 

_Thank you, _Kestle thought as Sonia finished her routine. "You're up, Kathryn."

Kathryn winced, but stood up and accepted a hug from Sonia. "You can do it, Kathryn," the perky blond said confidently.

Kestle smiled. Sonia was the perfect team captain: she was always smiling and encouraging. With Coach Brad trying to turn them into five-foot-tall Navy SEALs, they needed it.

"You have any idea what they're doing?" Fulton asked Portman. Kathryn was swinging on the bars, executing moves and skills so quickly Fulton couldn't follow them.

"Not really," Portman confessed.

"Open up that program thingy." Fulton pointed to the program they'd been handed when they came in. "Maybe that'll tell us something."

Portman leafed through the program. "Oh! Here's a profile of her. Kathryn Dallings. It says to watch for good swing."

Kathryn swung around the high bar twice. "Yeah. She's got that," Fulton pointed out.

Portman read on. "And…a twisting Stalder."

"What the heck is that?" Fulton asked.

"I don't know!" Portman said defensively. "Do I speak gymnast or something?"

"Excuse me," the woman in the row behind them said, not so politely. "We are trying to watch the competition. Would you boys please be quiet?"

"Sure," both Bash Brothers said, but each was thinking the same thing: _No way._

"Was that so bad?" Kestle asked as Kathryn bounded down the stairs, looking very relieved. 

"Yes," Kathryn said as Coach Jodie hugged her.

"Liar," Kestle slapped her friend on the shoulder.

"The score for Kathryn Dallings, nine point seven," the announcer's calm voice said.

"Nine point seven?" Fulton asked. "Is that good?"

"I dunno," Portman answered. "Let me check."

The woman behind them leaned over, looking somewhat annoyed. "The total score you can get in gymnastics is a ten," she said. "It starts from there. Kathryn lost three tenths of a point on her routine."

"Oh," Fulton said. "Thanks."

"All right, Kestle," Leighanne said. "You're up."

Kestle adjusted her beam shoes. They looked like ballet slippers, but they had a more rugged bottom. Kestle hated performing on the beam barefoot. In competitions, she got so nervous that her feet got sweaty and stuck on all her turns.

"Good luck," Amanda, one of the other girls, said.

"Thanks." Keslte stepped up and nervously waited for her turn.

"All right, here goes Kestle on the balance beam," Portman said.

"The highlight of your evening, I'm sure," Fulton quipped.

Portman ignored his friend. "I don't know how they do this," he said. _"I _wouldn't tumble on a four-inch beam for anything."

"Look at what she's doing!" Fulton gasped as Kestle flipped high over the beam and landed perfectly.

"That's called a layout," The woman behind them offered.

Kestle took a deep breath. She was almost done with her routine. She now had fifteen feet behind her in which to do two back handsprings and her dismount. 

Forcing herself to shut out all other thoughts, Kestle jumped backwards onto her hands, then landed on her feet. But she didn't land squarely and had to bend her knees to stay on the beam.

_Shoot, _Kestle thought. What would she do now? Going back to start her pass over would lower her score, but that little wobble had already gotten some points deducted. _I can pull off my dismount from here, _Kestle decided, bravely going for her second back handspring.

She was right, but just barely. Kestle landed too far forward and nearly fell on her face. But she didn't, and managed to keep her hands off the floor. After saluting the judges, Kestle trotted back to her teammates. 

"You did OK, Kestle," Sonia encouraged.

"Thanks," Kestle mumbled. 

"The score for Kestle Carter, nine point two," the announcer stated.

"Only the top five scores count," Coach Brad reminded Kestle.

Kestle nodded.

"Is that a bad score?" Portman asked.

"I guess not," Fulton said. "I mean, people are clapping."

"They're trying to be supportive," the woman, whose name was Emma, said.

"Oh," both Bash Brothers said in unison. After a quick glance at each other, they started clapping.

"OK, Kathryn," Kestle said. "Floor's your best event. You're great at floor. You can do it, OK?"

"Leave the encouraging to Sonia," Kathryn groaned.

Kestle made a face. "Come on! We're in fourth place. I do _not _want to finish fourth. Last is better than fourth. Just do your best, all right?"

"You're up, Kathryn," Coach Brad said. Even when he said something as innocuous as "you're up," he sounded like the drill sergeant R. Lee Ermey had played in _Full Metal Jacket. _No wonder Kathryn was nervous.

"Hey, here's Kathryn," Fulton said.

"You sound extremely excited about that," Portman observed.

Fulton ignored his friend as Kathryn's floor music started. "Aw, _Bad to the Bone!" _He said. "I love this girl…I mean, this song."

"Mm-hm," Portman said. "I know you do."

Kathryn was sweating bullets as she finished her routine. It had been nearly flawless. 

"Look, look!" Sonia said as Kathryn bounded off the floor. "Nine point eight! You just put us in third!"

"Hey! USA's in third place!" Portman announced.

"OK, Keslte," Coach Jodie said. "You're last up on vault. If you don't make any mistakes, we'll stay in third place. OK?"

_No pressure, _Kestle thought. But she just nodded.

_Take the mark, salute the judge, run, bounce, twist, push, flip, land. _Kestle went through her vault in her mind. As the judges gave her the green light, she turned off her mind and began to run.

_Bounce, twist, push…_SPLAT!

"Ow!" Kestle cried involuntarily as she landed on her face. What had happened? She hadn't gotten her flip in, had she?

"Kestle! Kestle! Are you OK?" Coach Jodie asked in concern.

Kestle saluted the judge and felt her shoulder pop. "Uh, I think so." _What's going on? _Her shoulder felt…disconnected. _What have I done? _

_Just don't say anything, _Kestle decided. _It's probably nothing. _She took the position for her second vault.

Run, bounce, twist, push- 

_Rrrrip._

Oh, so that's what happened. It was a very brief realization as Kestle finished her vault and landed. She saluted the judges with only her left arm and trotted off the mat.

"Kestle, what happened?" Kathryn asked.

Kestle fingered her right shoulder. Her arm had gone totally numb all the way to her fingertips. "I think I did something to my shoulder."

"They got bronze!" Fulton said.

Portman didn't hear him. "Something's wrong with Kestle. She hurt her arm or something."

In all the hubbub of the impending medal ceremony, nobody gave thought to what happened to Kestle. The Russians celebrated their gold, the Australians tolerated their silver, and the Americans sighed with relief at their comeback.

"OK, Kestle, just hold still." Coach Brad said.

"What did I do?" Kestle asked. Her arm was beginning to hurt. A lot.

"I'm willing to bet you tore a ligament," Coach Brad said as he draped a sling around Kestle's neck.

"Vaulting?" Kathryn asked.

"If it was weak to begin with, it's a possibility," Coach Brad said emotionlessly.

"Let's line up," Coach Jodie said.

The Bash Brothers watched the medal ceremony. "We've got to meet them for ice cream or something tomorrow," Fulton said. "A little congratulatory thing."

"I hope Kestle's OK," Portman said.

"You're in love, Bash Brother," Fulton said as the Russian national anthem started.

Kestle stood on the podium as Russia's national anthem was played. She'd never heard it before. Biting her lip, Kestle tried to ignore the agony in her arm. Her shoulder felt as if it was on fire. _I wish it would go numb again, _she thought.

"Hey," Kathryn nudged her as the anthem stopped and the crowd applauded. "You OK?"

"My arm hurts really bad," Kestle whimpered.

Jenny, who was standing to Kestle's left, got down from the podium and grabbed Coach Jodie. Kestle smiled. That was so Jenny. Break every rule there was if it would alleviate someone else's pain.

A few seconds later Coach Jodie made her way up the stairs. "All right, Kestle. We're going to take you to the hospital and have that shoulder x-rayed."

"Now?" Kestle asked. "Can't I just take some ibuprofen?"

Coach Jodie looked at her as if she were crazy. "No, Kestle. Coach Brad thinks you may have torn some ligaments. That can't be left too long without treatment."

"It doesn't hurt so bad anymore," Kestle lied.

"It will." Coach Jodie led Kestle off the podium.

Fulton and Portman wedged their way through the crowd into the night air. "That was good," Portman said. "A bronze medal for the USA gymnasts."

"I hope we do better," Fulton said. "I do _not _want to go home with anything less than gold."


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Coaches' Duel

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter sure did come faster than the last one! This is the third to last chapter.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER THIRTEEN – COACHES' DUEL

Team USA filed onto the ice for their final team practice. The atmosphere was a bit sad. This was the last time they'd ever practice together; and after the Iceland game they might never see each other again.

"Hey, Coach?" Portman asked. "Shouldn't we have our hockey gear on?" The team stood around in their street clothes and skates. Coach Bombay had insisted that they leave their gear in the locker room.

"Well, this is our last team practice," Coach Bombay started. "Which means-"

"The return of Captain Blood?" Averman asked.

The team laughed, but Coach Bombay did not seem so amused. "No. It means…" he pulled a beach ball out from behind his back and hot it in the air. "Let's have some fun!"

"Goldberg! Toss it over here!" Kaley held her arms over her head. 

"Here it comes!" Goldberg tossed the ball clear over Kaley's head.

"Hey! No fair!" Kaley complained as she fell to the ice. "Just because I'm short-"

Kaley suddenly stopped when she realized that her voice was the only sound in the stadium. She scrambled of the ice and saw the black-clad Vikings standing in a row in front of Team USA. The only splash of color on the whole team was the beach ball Coach Stansson held in his hands. _Aw, if I'd only caught it… _Kaley thought.

"Look, just get out of here," Luis said.

"Luis," Miss MacKay placed a hand on Luis' shoulder, telling him to stay back.

"We have the ice," Coach Stansson said coldly. "Your little team must leave now."

Coach Bombay snorted. "The only little thing was your career in the pros."

Coach Stansson's eyes hardened. "At least I had a shot."

"Ouch." Charlie, who was standing next to Kaley, whispered.

"You were a disgrace," Coach Bombay gritted. He turned back to Team USA. "Let's move."

"You've still got it?" Coach Stansson challenged. "Prove it. Play a little with me. Show me that triple deke your daddy taught you. Or was it that geezer over there?" He pointed to Jan, who was watching from the stands.

Coach Bombay took the stick Coach Stansson offered him. "I'll play," he said. "Three bar. The first one to hit the crossbar has to take it out past the blue line."

"I know the game," Coach Stansson said. "Let's play."

_This was a mistake, _Gordon thought as he faced off against the much bigger Icelander. Almost immediately, Wolf knocked him to the ice. _Shoot, _Gordon thought as the other man proceeded to score.

"Come on, Gordon, come on," Wolf urged tauntingly.

"Come on, Coach, show him!" One of Team USA yelled.

_I'll show him, _Gordon thought, clambering to his feet and stealing the puck from Wolf. _There. _He scored. 

"That wasn't even my triple deke," Gordon told Wolf over cheers from Team USA and jeers from Iceland. 

Wolf growled and tried to steal the puck, _Oh, no, you don't, _Gordon thought. He took advantage of his opposition's rattled confidence and scored.

"One more time and you go home crying," Gordon said smugly. "Oh, by the way, Stansson, you owe me a beach ball."

_Crack!_

Pain exploded in Gordon's knee like a thunderclap. _What happened? _He thought, as he fell to the ice clutching the ailing body part. _No, not again…_

"Get your coach off the ice!" Wolf yelled coldly.

"Hey, now-" Jesse started.

"Jesse, no," Gordon hauled himself to his feet. "Let's just go."

Team USA led Coach Bombay off the ice. Everyone was thinking the same thing: _We've got to beat them tomorrow. Whatever it takes, we _have _to beat Iceland._


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Final Showdown

AUTHOR'S NOTES: In the interest of originality, I have replaced the commentators' lines with Kestle and Kathryn watching the game. I also changed the end scene a bit. This is the second to last chapter. / and / represent a foreign language; in this case Icelandic.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER FOURTEEN – THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

Connie put the finishing touches on her long braid and wound and elastic band around the end.

"Why don't you just cut your hair?" Kaley asked, sweeping her shoulder-length blond hair into a short ponytail. "Makes it so much easier for the helmet."

"I guess." Connie readied her helmet. "But I like my long hair. It's-"

"Coach!" Adam bounded into the locker room, looking as happy as a clam.

"Hey, Cake-Eater, don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?" Jesse joked.

Adam ignored the jest. He snagged Ken's hockey stick and turned to Coach Bombay. "I woke up…" he rotated the stick. "And the pain was gone."

Coach Bombay looked at Adam pityingly. "I'm sorry, Adam, but we already have a full roster."

Adam's face fell. Russ dejectedly began to take off his jersey, but Charlie stopped him. "He can have my spot."

Coach Bombay raised his eyebrows. "Charlie, are you sure?"

Charlie nodded. "It's what I can do for the team."

Connie smiled. That was totally Charlie-always putting the team before himself.

Coach Bombay handed Charlie the clipboard. "I'll need you on the bench, Charlie. Coaching right along with me."

Kestle blew her nose and reached for the tissue box with her good arm. "Tord ligabets ad and cold…" she lamented.

Kathryn sniffed and reached for the remote. "You're dot alode."

"By shoulder hurts," Kestle complained. The diagnosis on her injury had been torn ligaments. They would take months to heal, and would sideline her from gymnastics for nearly a year.

"Whed did you last take your ibuprofid?" Kathryn asked through sniffles. 

Kestle checked her watch. "Three hours ago."

"You gotta wait adother hour."

"Shoot."

"Hey!" Kathryn grabbed the remote. "The hockey gabe's od."

Averman skated nervously to the face-off. _Great, it's the same kid who cleaned my clock last time, _he thought with an inward groan. He swallowed hard and gave an apprehensive smile. "How's it goin'?"

The Icelander responded with a sneer as the ref dropped the puck. The sneer caused Averman's attention to wander for just enough time to allow the Icelander to knock him down. _And it looks like he'll clean my clock again._

"Uh-oh," Goldberg said to himself as an Iceland player skated at him  "Uh, OK, left, right, left…which side? _Which side?"_

The question was answered as the black-clad Viking scored on Goldberg's glove side. "Too slow, big boy," the player taunted.

Goldberg took his gloves off and started at the Icelander. "All right, that's it!"

"Don't listen to him!" Dwayne drawled, grabbing Goldberg's arm.

"He'll kill you!" Ken insisted, taking the goalie's other arm.

"Well, let me go so I can kill _him!" _Goldberg yelled, trying to squirm out of his teammates' grasp. "_Hey! Hey! You want some of this?!" _He hollered at his attacker. "Come on, guys, let me at him!"

Rolling his eyes at the spectacle by his team's goal, Gordon turned to Russ. "You ready?" He asked the newest addition.

Russ nodded.

"Line change!" Gordon called. "Go for it, Russ."

Russ wasn't even on the ice for five seconds before Stefansson and Sandersson decked him. "What're you doing?" He asked indignantly. "Come on, guys, get off me!" He shoved the two Icelanders out of his way and called for the puck. "It's knuckle puck time!" He declared as Ken sailed the puck over.

"Aw, man!" Russ nearly whined as Sandersson stole the puck and scored with it. Iceland now led two to nothing.

"We can't make it!" Averman panted from the box. "Iceland's bigger, they're stronger, they're faster, they…they've got more facial hair."

"This certadly is iterestig," Kathryn commented as she blew her nose.

"You thidk _Fultod's _iterestig," Kestle pointed out, reaching for the Sinex on the nightstand. "You wat sub?"

"Doe way!" Kathryn protested. "You're sick, ad you've bed stickig that up your dose!"

"You're sick, too!" Kestle said. 

"That's too buch," Kathryn persisted. "Get by Afrid out of the bedicid cabidet id the bathroob."

"What ab I, your slave?" Kestle asked.

"I get dizzy wed I stad up," Kathryn defended herself. "I dote thidk you wat to call dide-wud-wud after I split by head oped."

Kestle stood up. "Oh, fide."

"Banks!" Coach Bombay called. Adam turned around to look at his coach. "You're on. Be careful out there."

Adam nodded and vaulted over the boards. Almost immediately, Sandersson slashed his bad wrist. Pain shot up Adam's arm. _Oh, no, not again!_

"Ref!" Coach Bombay railed from the box. "Call something, for crying out loud! He almost took his arm off!"

Adam smiled; glad to have the support of his team and his coach. 

"That'll be two minutes," the ref reported as he escorted Sandersson to the penalty box.

"Two minutes?" Sandersson asked. "Well worth it."

Coach Bombay beckoned Adam over to the box. "Adam! Your wrist; is it OK?"

Adam nodded. "It's fine, Coach. He just hit the padding." At Coach Bombay's skeptical look he added, "Really."

Fulton and Portman looked at each other. "Let's give them some Bash Brothers treatment," Fulton said, reaching for his bandana.

"Yeah," Portman agreed.

The Bash Brothers hit the ice. Gunnar came at them but went flying into his own goal before he could even know what happened.

"We are Team USA!" Fulton declared to the prone Viking.

"You mess with one of us, you mess with _all _of us!" Portman added.

"Oh, look at them!" Kathryn squealed as she and Kestle watched on the TV. "They're so…manly."

Kestle sniffed and squirted more Sinex up her nose. 

"Glove side," Goldberg muttered as an Icelander named Karlsson shot at him. "Ha!" Goldberg exclaimed triumphantly as the puck landed in his glove. "So predictable."

"Kaley, you're up."

Kaley nodded at her dad's order and took to the ice. _"Oof!" _she cried as she tripped. "How did that…" She stopped her monologue as her question was answered. Gunnar was standing above her, grinning. 

_Just ignore him, _Kaley thought. She was non-confrontational by nature, but that part of her personality seemed to fly out the window when it came to hockey. On the ice, Kaley Bombay was a fireball who threw around insults like Wiffle balls.

"What's the matter, little lady?" Gunnar's Icelandic accent taunted.

_Say no more, _Kaley decided. She turned around and charged at Gunnar. Even though she was barely five feet tall, she managed to take him down.

_Fweet! _"Game misconduct, young lady!"

Kaley whirled around. "Do you know what he called me?" She challenged the ref.

"No, and I don't care," the ref said. "Out!"

_It's worth it, _Kaley decided as she glided back to the box.

"A _game misconduct?" _Her dad asked. Kaley was glad he seemed more surprised than angry. "Kaley Bombay! You of all people!"

Kaley shrugged. _"Nobody _calls me a little lady."

"Wahoo!" Ken exulted as he scored. "We're still alive!"

A big Iceland player eyed Ken menacingly. The player was huge to begin with, but he looked even bigger compared to Ken's tiny stature.

"Hey, you want a piece of me?" Ken asked. He remembered the "stick, glove, shirt" routine Russ' brother had taught him and performed it on the Icelander. "Take _that!" _

"Oh!" Kestle laughed as the Icelander got "shirted" by the tiny Team USA player.

"You know, if you keep using that stuff, it gets less effective," Kathryn informed her friend as Kestle readied the Sinex.

Kestle glared at her teammate. "Why did't you tell be that before?"

Kathryn shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Kestle threw a pillow at the laughing gymnast.

"That'll be two minutes, son," the ref said, taking Ken to the penalty box.

"Two minutes? Well worth it." Ken stole Sandersson's line from earler.

The ref shut the door to the box. As soon as he was gone, Porman and Fulton began banging on the Plexiglas. 

"ALL RIGHT LITTLE BASH BROTHER!" Portman roared.

"YOU GO LITTLE MAN!" Fulton confirmed.

"Hey!" Gordon yelled at the scene his players were making at the penalty box. "Come on, guys, let's play hockey!"

But the Bash Brothers wouldn't listen. They left the penalty box and slapped high fives with Team USA, then butted heads with the Icelanders in their box.

_Oh, forget it, _Gordon decided. "Connie, you're up."

"Connie, be careful," Charlie warned as Connie left the bench. "They're gunning for you."

"Don't worry; I'll be fine!" Connie said, annoyed. _Chivalry is dead, _she thought disparagingly, getting out of the box. _I'm not a little woman. I can handle myself. I-_

"Hey!" Connie cried as Gunnar shoved her. She was quite glad she hadn't voiced her thoughts. _You won't get rid of me that easily, _she thought, hauling herself up and calling for the puck. Her effort was thwarted again, this time by Sandersson. 

Dwayne was shocked at what Gunnar and Sandersson were doing. _Don't they know how to treat a lady? _He thought. _Fortunately, I keep my rope around for just such an emergency. _He reached under the bench and grabbed his rope. "Yee-haw!" He cheered, jumping off the bench and over the boards. "I'm comin' Connie!"

Much to the apparent shock of everyone, Dwayne cleanly roped Sandersson around the shoulders. With one swift tug, the towering Icelander was a heap of black on the ice.

"Where I come from we treat a lady with _respect!" _Dwayne spat at the prone form.

"Thank you, Dwayne, but I'm no lady," Connie said politely, then turned to Sandersson. _"I'm a Duck!" _She delivered a swift kick to his shoulder and stormed off.

Charlie and Coach Bombay both shook their heads as the period finished. "This isn't a hockey game; it's a circus," Coach Bombay muttered. Charlie nodded his agreement.

"Well, eved if they dote wid, this sure is eterdaidig," Kestle said as the TV cut to commercials.

"Did you all enjoy that?" Gordon asked, striding into the locker room where Team USA was taking off their helmets to cool down before the next period. 

_"Yeah!" _Was the enthusiastic response.

"Well, good," Gordon said tersely.  "So did they. Because they're three points up, and we're one period away from defeat."

The mood sobered a bit. "But we can't beat them," Jesse pointed out. "We might as well keep our pride."

Gordon shook his head. "That's not pride, Jesse," he corrected gently. "Sure, when Dwayne roped that big oaf part of me cheered." He went on quickly, seeing the blush that crept into Dwayne's face. "But guys, I've been there. I wanted to cream that jerk who busted my knee in the minors. And I really, _really _wanted to go after Stansson for that cheap shot. But my knee will heal." _Probably not completely, but that's beside the point. _"But if I become something I'm not; if I sink to their level…then I've lost more than my knee."

None of the team interrupted, so Gordon went on. "We're not goons, we're not bullies, and no matter what we do, we'll still be ourselves." 

The team seemed to mull that over for a moment. "You," Gordon said after a moment, pointing at Portman. "Who are you?"

"Dean Portman," Portman answered obediently.

"From where?" Gordon asked.

"Chicago, Illinois."

Gordon nodded his approval and turned his gaze to Guy. "Who are you?"

"Guy Germaine," Guy responded.

"Where are you from?" Gordon prompted.

"St. Paul, Minnesota."

Gordon looked at Jesse. "You."

"Jesse Hall from Minneapolis, Minnesota," Jesse replied with a grin.

"You," Gordon told Julie. 

"Julie Gaffney from Bangor, Maine," Julie said.

Gordon turned to Luis. "You."

"Luis Mendoza from Miami, Florida," Luis answered.

Goldberg leapt up, not needing any prompting. "Greg Goldberg, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"Kaley Bombay from Baltimore, Maryland," Kaley stated proudly.

"Lester Averman, Brooklyn Park, Minnesota," Averman said.

"Fulton Reed, Stillwater, Minnesota," Fulton announced.

"Russ Tyler, South-Central Los Angeles," Russ proclaimed.

"Charlie Conway, Minneapolis, Minnesota," Charlie chimed in.

Ken stood up. "Ken Wu, San Francisco, California."

"Connie Moreau, Minneapolis, Minnesota," Connie declared.

Miss MacKay shrugged. "Michele MacKay, Duluth, Minnesota," 

Gordon gave a satisfied smile. "And I'm Gordon Bombay, from Minneapolis, Minnesota."

The team gave a raucous cheer. "We're Team USA," Gordon stated. "Gathered from all parts of the country. And we're gonna stick together. You know why?"

"Because we are Ducks," came the gentle Scandinavian voice from the doorway. "And Ducks fly together."

Gordon turned around to face his friend. "That's right, Jan." He turned back to his team. "And just when you think they're about to break apart?"

"DUCKS FLY TOGETHER!" The team chanted.

"And when the wind blows hard and the sky is black?" Michele asked.

"DUCKS FLY TOGETHER!"

"And when the roosters are crowin' and the cows are spinnin' circles in the pasture?" Dwayne drawled.

The team looked at each other, confused.

"OK…" Gordon motioned for the kids to respond.

"DUCKS FLY TOGETHER!" 

"And when everybody says it can't be done," Gordon said softly, "Ducks fly together."

Jan stepped forward. "Now new Ducks and old Ducks must unite under one banner." He held up a white-and-green jersey with two crossed hockey sticks behind a hockey mask shaped like a Duck's bill. "And I thought perhaps, something like this."

"Here it comes," Kathryn handed Kestle another tissue.

Kestle blew her nose. "I wish you'd told be about that whole Sidex thig _before _I took all of it."

"Hey!" Kathryn sat bolt upright on the bed. "What's this?"

"What?" Kestle struggled to sit up and began to cough.

"Don't cough on me," Kathryn said, moving away.

"What harb will it do?" Kestle asked. "You're sick, too!"

"Look!" Kathryn pointed at the screen. There was a new team on the ice, wearing green, white, and purple uniforms.

"What team is this?" The announcer was asking no one in particular. "It's not Team USA…oh, wait. Yes it is! They're wearing the logo of the Ducks!"

"Why are they doing that?" Kathryn asked.

"I've just gotten word that there is no rule against changing uniforms," the commentator said. "Well, Gordon Bombay's old team was called the Ducks, so I'd say we've got USA Ducks on the ice right now."

The USA Ducks gathered in their box and put their hands in the middle. But instead of their "USA all the way" chant, they did a chant specially designed for their new uniforms.

"Quack, quack, quack, _quack, quack, quack, QUACK, QUACK, QUACK GOOOOO DUCKS!"_

The words _WE WILL QUACK YOU _flashed across the scoreboard, and the crowd began singing "We will, we will quack you!" if adrenaline could have won the game, USA would have come out on top.

"Averman! You've got the face-off," Coach Bombay ordered. 

Averman took to the ice and lowered his face shield. _I'm gonna get this big oaf, _he decided, meeting Sandersson at center ice.

"We meet again," Sandersson mocked.

"Mm-hm." Averman nodded slowly.

The ref dropped the puck. As soon as it clacked to the ice, Averman decked Sandersson and took the puck. In his peripheral vision, Averman spotted Connie calling for the puck and he passed it to her.

"Yes!" Connie exulted as she scored. Her joy quickly turned to dismay as Gunnar took the puck and scored. She looked up at the scoreboard. USA now trailed five to two.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" Averman asked as Charlie assembled the team in the box. "This isn't the NBA!"

"But it's the perfect teamwork play!" Charlie insisted, showing the Ducks the diagram he'd drawn.

Kaley took the puck from Jesse and shot it through the Iceland goalie's legs. _Five to four. We're still in this, _she thought. The Ducks were catching up.

"Russ!" Coach Bombay said. "We have two minutes left. Can you get yours in?"

"I don't know," Russ answered truthfully. 

"Try," Coach Bombay commanded.

Russ nodded apprehensively and took to the ice. Iceland had apparently tightened their offensive a bit, because he was knocked down four times. He never even got near the puck.

"Time out!" Gordon yelled, signaling. The ref nodded. "USA! Let's bring it in!" he called. "OK, kids, now here's what I want you to do." He explained his strategy to the Ducks.

"Wudder what they're doig," Kestle asked, blowing her nose.

Guy skated in circles, trying to look busy as he awaited Coach Bombay's signal. _I hope this works, this better work…_

"Come on, Guy, _now!" _Coach Bombay's voice cut through the air like a knife.

Guy called for the puck, and Dwayne passed it to him. Guy shot the puck towards the Ducks' goal, where "Goldberg" stopped it.

But it wasn't Goldberg at all! During the time-out, Goldberg and Russ had switched uniforms. Russ lifted his face shield and teed the puck. "It's knuckle puck time!" He announced, sending the puck spiraling across the rink.

"No!" Stansson howled as the puck hit his team's net. The game was tied right as the buzzer went off. Third period was over. Just a few seconds earlier and the game would have gone to the Vikings. 

The referee sailed by Iceland's box. "Shoot-out," he informed Stansson quickly, then went to give the news to Team USA.

Stansson nodded. /_Victory will be ours,/ _he promised himself solemnly.

"What's a shootout?" Kestle asked. Her stuffy nose was now beginning to drain into her throat. This made it much easier to speak, but she was coughing constantly.

"I don't know," Kathryn said. "Maybe the announcer will say something."

"It's down to a shootout!" The announcer said. "Each team will send five of its best players against the other team's goalie. Whoever gets the most shots wins."

"Well, that was informative," Kestle said through a coughing fit.

"Shoot-out," Gordon muttered to himself. "Jesse! You're up first. Go for it, son!"

Jesse skated to center ice. He hated shootouts, always had and always would. The ref dropped the puck and Jesse wasted no time getting his turn over with. He shot the puck right through the goalie's legs.

Goldberg stood at the goal, stick and puck ready. _Work for me, big boys, _he willed them.

Even though the Icelander's face was completely hidden by his mask, Goldberg could have sworn he saw him sneering. _I'll show him, _he thought. He stick-saved his opponent's shot. _We're still alive!_

Guy sent the puck sailing over the Vikings' goalie's shoulder. _Phew, _he thought, skating back to the box amid cheers from his teammates. _Glad that's over. _

Goldberg caught the puck in his glove. _Good save, _he congratulated himself. Two to nothing.

Dawyne, unable to resist showing off, swept the puck off the ice with his stick and began juggling it. _For good luck, _he thought, putting the puck down and began skating towards the goal. _Drat! _He thought as his shot stopped in the goalie's glove. _Maybe that luck will be there for the next player._

"Oh, no!" Goldberg gasped as the puck slid past him into the goal. _That's only their first score, _he reminded himself. _Plenty of time. _

"Ooh, there he is!" Kestle squeaked as Portman stepped onto the ice.

"You like him," Kathryn said.

Kestle nodded through her coughing. "Yes," she admitted grudgingly as the coughing eased. "I do."

"Here's Dean Portman, Bash Brother Number One of the Ducks," the commentator was saying.

Portman took up the puck and began skating.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" Kestle urged.

As if on cue, Portman shot. "No!" Kestle gasped as Iceland's goalie saved the shot. 

_Come on, _Goldberg told himself as Iceland took yet another shot at the goal. _Get in the game here, Goldie! Don't let Iceland get another shot!_

Goldberg groaned in dismay as the puck shot into the goal. _Two to two, _he thought. _It's getting tense._

"I can't watch this," Kaley muttered, dropping her head into her hands.

"Go, Kaley," Gordon said.

Kaley looked up at her father. _"What?" _

"Go!" Her dad cocked his head toward the ice.

"Dad, come on," Kaley argued. "You know I'm not-"

"Kaley! Go!" Dad snapped.

"OK, OK," Kaley said meekly, climbing out of the box.

"Gordon, do you think that was a bit harsh?" Michele asked as Kaley nervously took her place at center ice.

"She's one of our best, Michele," Gordon argued.

"She doesn't do well under pressure!" Michele argued as Kaley unsteadily skated towards the Vikings' goal.

"She needs to learn!" Gordon said. "If she-"

_Clang! _The puck bounced off Iceland's goal and landed on the ice.

"Do you really think now was the appropriate time?" Michele asked as a dejected-looking Kaley skated back.

"Come on, Goldberg!" Ken yelled from the box, earning a round on shushes from his teammates. "He sure could use the encouragement," 

The Icelander, whose last name was Ragnarsson, headed towards USA's goal. Goldberg did his very best, but couldn't save it.

"Goldberg's getting tired," Russ observed.

Julie nodded at Russ' observation. _Please, Coach, let me play, _she begged mentally. _Just this game, please…_

Iceland's goalie, Stefansson-no relation to Gunnar-prepared himself for this onslaught. Tyler was good-very good-and Stefansson was sure the famous "knuckle puck" would be used.

He was right. The puck came spiraling through the air, and-_crack!_-got the Viking right between the eyes. He fell backwards to the ice, and the last thing he saw was the bright fluorescent lights of the stadium. 

Russ looked back at his teammates. "I didn't mean to get him!" He said in response to the look Coach Bombay was giving him. "But at least I scored!"

As his team brought in a replacement goalie, Kristofersson headed to center ice. Now USA was ahead, and Kristofersson was quite sure that he was going to fix that.

USA's goalie was good; but not as good as their backup, Gaffney. Fortunately she was on the bench, and had been for most of the tournament. _What did they bring her for? So the feminists will be happy?_ Kristofersson sneered to himself.

/"Thank you!"/ Kristofersson cheered as his shot went in, much to the goalie's chagrin.

_New goalie, _Adam thought as he began skating. Maybe he'd get lucky and this goalie wouldn't be as good as the last.

Luck seemed to be on his side. Adam scored easily. _Four to three, _he sighed to himself. _Busted wrist and all. _

_/If I can get this shot in, Iceland's victory will be that much closer,/ _Sandersson told himself. /_If not, it will go to Team USA./_

_Come on, Goldberg, stop this shot, _Goldberg mentally cheered himself on. _You can do it. Pretend it's not a shootout at all. Just-_

_Thwack! _The puck brushed the end of Goldberg's stick but went into the goal anyway. _Shoot! _Goldberg thought. _Now we're tied! Next shot means victory for Iceland!_

"Julie!" Coach Bombay sat down next to the Mainer. "You've got the fast glove. I know this kid's move: triple deke, glove side."

"What if he goes stick side?" Julie's excitement at finally being able to play was competing with her apprehension at having to play _now, _when victory was on the line.

"He's fancy; he'll go glove," Coach Bombay said confidently, clapping Julie on the shoulder. "Don't hesitate. Go."

Goldberg saw Julie and Coach Bombay talking, and got the feeling his time was up. As Julie sailed over to the goal, Goldberg broke into a smile. "Go get 'em, Julie!" He cheered, going back to the box. _She _can't _get thrown out this time. _

_/Oh, no!/ _Gunnar's jaw dropped as Gaffney took Goldberg's place. /_She's supposed to be the best! Maybe she's out of practice because she hasn't played. I'll have to go glove side with her. She'll never anticipate that./_

_I can do this, _Julie told herself. 

Gunnar began to skate.

"That's one…" Julie murmured as Gunnar deked once.

"Two…"

"Three."

_Smack!_

The puck went flying.

_Thup._

Julie felt her glove jerk. 

_Did I get it? _She thought, sqeezing her hand. Yes, there was a round hardness in her glove.

"Did she get it?" Goldberg whispered, so quietly nobody even heard him.

_/Did you get it?/ _Sandersson wanted to scream.

"Did she get it?" Kathryn and Kestle asked in unison.

Julie smiled to herself, straightened-as much as was possible in her goalie pads-and dropped the puck to the ice.

The stadium went from completely silent to deafeningly loud in on second. USA spilled over the box, throwing off their helmets and gloves, running to celebrate. Hugs were exchanged all around.

"You did it, Julie!" Goldberg called, hugging her.

Julie couldn't respond; she simply gave Goldberg the best hug she could through their pads.

Kathryn and Kestle, colds neglected for the moment, jumped on the bed and squealed at each other. "They did it! Our men did it!" Kathryn yelped.

Kestle was too excited to say anything. As she and Kathryn jumped, suddenly the room began to spin and Kestle found herself sprawled on the bed.

"You OK?" Kathryn asked, concerned.

Kestle nodded. "Let's celebrate from here."

"Gunnar," Stansson said as Gunnar went to the box. "You lost it for me."

Gunnar sneered at him in disgust. "You lost it for yourself." He turned to the team. "Let's go shake their hands."

Stansson was utterly speechless.

"Good work, Captain Duck," Gunnar said as he shook Charlie's hand.

"Thanks, Gunnar," Charlie responded appreciatively. _Captain Duck. I like the sound of that. _

"Good going, Bombay," Stansson admitted grudgingly as he shook Gordon's hand.

"Thanks, Stansson," Gordon said, trying to be cordial. "We'll see you again."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: We Are the Champions

DISCLAIMER: _We Are the Champions _belongs to Queen. But you probably already knew that.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: It's _the end! _Finally! I'm currently writing _A New Beginning, _the next story in this series.

A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER FIFTEEN – WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS

"I'm _so _ready to go home," Fulton sighed as he followed the tired Ducks to the terminal.

Portman nodded and yawned. The USA Ducks had stayed up all night eating pizza and partying. Now, on the ride back to Minnesota, they would all sleep.

"Did you ever see Kestle or Kathryn?" Fulton asked.

Portman shook his head. "No. Kestle called right after the game to say congratulations. She tore ligaments in her shoulder after the vault, you know."

"Too bad," Fulton sympathized. "You didn't happen to get her phone number, did you?"

"Nope," Portman sighed. "I guess it's just not-"

"Dean! Wait!" The Bash Brothers turned around. Kestle and Kathryn were running over to them. 

"Hey, bronze medalists!" Portman said. "How's the shoulder, Kestle?"

"It hurts," Kestle said. "And during your game Kathryn and I were both sick, or we would have come."

"But we got a bronze medal, though," Kathryn pointed out.

"Congratulations," Fulton said.

"Same to you for the gold," Kathryn replied with a smile, holding Portman's gaze.

"Bash Brothers!" Ken hollered. "We're leaving!"

Kestle pushed a piece of paper into Portman's hand. "My telephone number," she said quickly, standing on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. "Call me." With that, the two gymnasts were off.

"You didn't give Fulton your number," Kestle pointed out to Kathryn as they boarded their airplane home. 

Kathryn shrugged. "I was too shy," she said. "Maybe you can ask Dean for it."

"So you _do _have her number now," Fulton said.

"Guess so." Portman stuffed his duffel bag in the compartment over his seat. "Kathryn didn't give you hers, though."

"Maybe she's waiting for me to give her mine," Fulton suggested.

Portman sat down in the seat and unfolded the paper. "Or not," he showed Fulton the paper.

Kestle Carter 

_456-555-7270_

_Kathryn Dallings_

_456-555-6743_

"Well, don't worry about it," Kestle said as the plane started down the runway. "I gave him your number."

Kathryn was shocked. "When?"

"When I gave Dean mine," Kestle said smugly. "The paper had my number _and _yours on it. I knew you wouldn't give him your number, so I took care of it for you."

"All righty," Goldberg said. The Ducks had decided to have a campout in Minnesota to celebrate their win. At the moment, Goldberg was trying to heat up a marshmallow over the campfire.

"Five bucks says he burns it," Ken muttered under his breath.

"Ah!" The goalie exclaimed, backpedaling away from the fire. His marshmallow had been set aflame, and now looked like a torch.

"Goldberg!" Charlie admonished, grabbing the stick and stepping on the marshmallow. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to light it on fire!"

The team shared a laugh over that.

"Hey y'all, let's sing!" Dwayne pulled out his guitar and began strumming.

_"I've paid my dues," _Averman began to sing, just a bit off-key. _"Time after time/I've done my sentence/But committed no crime/_

"Sing," Portman whispered to Ken. "We need to drown him out."

The Bash Brothers joined in: _"And bad mistakes/I've made a few/I've had my share of sand kicked in my face/But I've come through/_

"Sing it!" Dwayne told the rest of the team. _"And I need to go on and on and on and on…"_

_"We are the champions my friends/And we'll keep on fighting to the end/We are the champions/We are the champions/No time for losers/Cause we are the champions/Of the world"_


End file.
